CHAPTER 130: JUST BEFORE GOODBYE

The early morning light slipped through the half-closed blinds, painting the room in soft streaks of gold and gray.

George stirred beneath a crumpled sheet, his face scrunched as the first stab of headache made itself known.

He groaned—deep, throaty, regret-laced—and turned over, pulling the pillow halfway across his face.

"Ugh... never again," he mumbled, voice scratchy.

A beat passed.

"...Maybe."

The sharp throb in his temples disagreed.

Dragging himself upright, he sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his sleep-messed curls.

The floor still felt like it swayed under him, even though the room stood perfectly still.

He blinked at his packed bag near the door. Right. Today.

He grabbed his phone, winced at the brightness, then checked the time. 7:38 AM.

George got to his feet—slowly, like an old man nursing invisible wounds—and shuffled out to the kitchen.

The apartment still smelled faintly of last night’s beer and pizza crusts, the fridge humming like a background sigh, floorboards groaning under George’s slow shuffle.

He opened the cupboard with a grunt and pulled out a packet of instant oatmeal, then turned to the kettle, movements clumsy but practiced.

By the time he settled at the table, warm bowl in hand and two painkillers swallowed dry, he looked... alive again. Barely.

Staring at the wall, he muttered, "Goodbye, hangover. Hello... train ride."

He exhaled deeply, the kind of breath that came when your body remembered what normal felt like.

The party was over. Real life, with its luggage and train stations and long rides home, had come knocking.

And for all his whining, George didn’t seem to mind.

After the final spoonful disappeared, George set the bowl aside with a soft clink and pushed himself up from the chair.

His movements were slow but steadier now—less like a survivor, more like someone ready to face the road ahead.

Back in the bedroom, sunlight streamed across the floor in thicker stripes, casting a soft glow over the remnants of last night and the life he’d momentarily paused.

The suitcase stood by the door, already zipped and upright like a loyal companion waiting for the journey.

He tugged on a plain gray tee, smoothing it down with one hand, then reached for his denim jacket from the back of the chair.

He gave the shoulder a quick brush, paused at the collar, and adjusted it twice—one of those small, quiet habits that didn’t mean much but always felt necessary.

Socks. Shoes. A stretch. A yawn. Phone check.

Keys slid into his pocket with a faint jingle.

He stood in the middle of the room, still for a moment.

His eyes moved slowly—over the crooked posters, the desk with two half-open chip bags and a power bank hanging off the edge, the bed where only one side had been slept in.

All of it messy. All of it his.

"Don’t miss me too much," he muttered, half to the room, half to himself.

His lips quirked into a crooked smile, but his eyes stayed thoughtful, distant.

A beat.

Then he pulled out his phone and aimed it at the suitcase.

One quick snap. His fingers hovered, then typed:

Group chat:See you next semester, guys.

He tapped send.

The message delivered, the screen blinked once in reply—but George didn’t linger to wait for any hearts or laughing emojis.

He slipped the phone into his back pocket, picked up his bag, and stood at the threshold.

One last look.

He didn’t know what he’d miss more—his friends, or this feeling of finally knowing where he belonged.

Then the door clicked shut behind him, soft but final.

The hallway beyond was still, the world on the brink of waking.

And just like that—George was on his way.

Somewhere the scent of eggs and toast still lingered in the air as Luca sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, a half-eaten slice resting on the plate beside him.

One hand held his phone, thumb scrolling lazily, while the other popped the last bite of sausage into his mouth.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Noel stepped out, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp and slightly tousled.

He gave a small yawn and crossed the room barefoot, grabbing the mug that waited on the desk before settling beside Luca.

He took a sip—still warm.

Luca didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. "Tea’s not bad today, huh?"

Noel hummed. "Better than yesterday."

"That’s because I didn’t make it yesterday," Luca smirked, eyes still on his screen.

Noel rolled his eyes but let it slide.

Luca suddenly blinked and leaned closer to his phone. "Oh," he muttered, tapping the screen. "School group just dropped the notice."

Noel raised a brow. "What notice?"

"Two-week break starts tomorrow. It’s official."

Noel paused mid-sip. "Wait—already?"

"Yup. Exams are done, profs probably need a break more than we do."

He swiped again and chuckled softly. "Oh, look at George."

He tilted the screen toward Noel. There, in the group chat, a photo of George’s suitcase sat squarely in the frame with the caption:

"See you next semester, guys."

Right below, Emily had already replied:

Emily: You sure you can travel with a hangover?

George’s response followed a second later:

George: Cured. Miraculously.

Emily again:

Emily: Awww we’re going to miss you.

Luca’s fingers hovered briefly before he typed:

Luca: Safe travel, man. Don’t forget your charger this time.

He hit send, then set the phone down beside him.

"Feels weird," he said, voice softer now.

"What does?"

Luca shrugged. "Everyone’s starting to head out. Feels like this Chapter’s already closing."

Noel didn’t respond right away. He sipped his tea, then looked out the window where the sky was still trying to decide between sun and cloud.

"Guess we’ve got a couple days left before our own story moves forward."

Luca glanced sideways at him. "Poetic much?"

Noel smiled into his mug. "You’re rubbing off on me."

Luca laughed, warm and low. "Terrifying."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment—tea, toast crumbs, the soft hum of the ceiling fan—before the day continued pulling them forward.

Luca stayed quiet for a while, eyes still fixed on the phone screen though he wasn’t really reading anything anymore.

The air between them had shifted—gentle, a little heavier.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then tried again.

"So..." he began, voice casual but tight at the edges. "You’re going on Tuesday?"

Noel didn’t answer right away. He reached for another sip of his tea, staring into the mug as though it held more answers than he could give.

"Hmm... I guess," he murmured eventually.

That was enough.

Luca let out a small groan and dropped his phone onto the bed, rubbing his hand down his face. "I hate this," he muttered, voice muffled as he leaned sideways, resting his head against Noel’s shoulder.

Noel’s body tensed—just for a second—before he relaxed into the weight, his free hand coming up to brush lightly through Luca’s hair.

"I know," he said softly.

Luca didn’t reply. He stayed there, head pressed to Noel like he could slow time just by staying close enough.

His hand reached for the hem of Noel’s shirt and held it between two fingers—absent, almost childlike.

The silence wasn’t awkward—it was full. Of unsaid things. Of the feeling that something sweet was about to be paused.

"I haven’t even left," Noel said, managing a small smile. "You’re already sulking."

Luca huffed. "Because I already miss you."

The words weren’t dramatic. They came out quiet, rough at the edges, like they slipped past the usual guard he kept up.

Noel didn’t laugh or tease. He just turned slightly and pressed a kiss into Luca’s hairline, holding it there longer than usual.

"I’ll be back before you know it," he whispered.

But neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to pretend it would be easy.

The tea had gone cold by the time either of them moved.

Luca lifted his head, just slightly, enough to glance at Noel’s face. "How long are you staying?"

Noel shrugged. "Maybe a week. Two, max. Depends how clingy my mom gets."

Luca gave a half-hearted smirk, but it faded too quickly. "So... the whole break."

"That’s kind of the point of a break, Luca."

Luca let out a sigh and flopped onto his back dramatically, arms sprawled across the bed like he’d just been told the world was ending.

Noel turned to look at him, lips twitching. "You’re being so dramatic."

"I have a right," Luca said without opening his eyes. "You’re abandoning me."

Noel leaned over and flicked his forehead. But even with the playful touch, something in Luca’s voice lingered—quiet, genuine, a little raw. "It’s not like I’m never coming back."

"You’ll forget me. Meet new people. Fall in love with a guy who knows how to cook or something."

Noel laughed—really laughed this time—and shook his head. "Right. Because that’s exactly how it works."

But Luca didn’t laugh with him. He just looked up, eyes a little more serious now. "I’m gonna miss waking up with you."

The words hung in the air—soft, exposed.

Noel’s smile wavered, just a little.

He brushed a thumb across Luca’s cheek. "I’ll miss you too, idiot."

Luca reached up, hand catching Noel’s wrist, holding it there. "Then stay."

Noel’s breath caught—just for a second. "You know I can’t. My mom would literally send the army if I didn’t show up."

Luca let go of his hand, slowly. "Fine. But I’m counting the days. The minutes."

"I’ll text you every night."

"That’s the bare minimum, Noel."

Noel leaned down and kissed him—slow, unhurried, like he didn’t want the moment to end.

"I’ll miss this," he whispered against his lips.

"I’ll miss you," Luca whispered back.

And for a while, neither of them said anything more.

They just stayed there, tangled in quiet closeness, stealing time before the inevitable goodbye.