CHAPTER 144: THE CALL THAT NEVER ENDED

Noel shut the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet of the evening slipping back into the corners of the house.

He moved around his room with slow steps—unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall lazily over the back of his chair before heading into the bathroom.

The water hit the basin with a low splash, and he leaned over the sink, splashing his face, feeling the weight of the day roll off his shoulders.

A few minutes later, towel drying his hair, he dropped into the chair by his desk, the screen of his phone already lit in his hand.

He dialed.

The call didn’t even ring once before the screen flickered to life.

"Hey," Luca’s voice came through, low and oddly quick, as if he’d been sitting there waiting.

Noel blinked. "That was fast."

Luca shifted the phone in his hand. "I’ve been waiting."

His tone was calm, but something sat just under it—tight and unfinished. A pause hung in the air.

Noel leaned back in his chair. "I just got back home, you okay?"

"Yeah."

Noel narrowed his eyes a bit. "That doesn’t sound like okay."

"Nothing’s wrong," Luca said quickly, too quickly. His voice had gone flatter now, carefully even.

Noel tilted his head, sensing it.

Without a word, he hit the video call button.

A few seconds, and Luca’s face came into view—his hair still damp, a clean towel slung around his shoulders.

His eyes flicked to the screen, and then away, not quite meeting Noel’s.

"You sure you’re okay?" Noel asked again, more gently this time.

Luca hesitated... then looked straight at him. "Who’s she?"

Noel’s eyebrows lifted. "She?"

"That girl." Luca’s voice didn’t waver, but his jaw did a small, restless twitch. "The one who bumped into you."

Noel stared for a beat before it clicked, and a soft smile crept onto his lips. "That’s why you’ve been sulking?"

"I’m not sulking," Luca shot back, leaning slightly to the side. "I’m just... asking."

"She literally jumped on you like she owns you," he added under his breath, eyes flicking away again.

Noel rested his chin in his palm, watching him. "Ah. So you are jealous."

"Ridiculous," Luca huffed. "Who’s jealous?"

Noel didn’t respond. He just kept watching him, gaze steady, quiet.

And after a long moment—Luca exhaled sharply, then admitted in a low grumble, "Yeah. I’m jealous." He hesitated, eyes flicking away. "You looked like you knew her—like she belonged in your world."

He sat up straighter. "Who even does that? Bumping into someone’s shoulder like—like it’s normal."

Noel laughed softly, the sound warm and full of fondness. "She’s Amelia. We grew up together, Luca. She’s like a cousin I never had."

"She didn’t look like a cousin," Luca muttered, slouching back down.

"You have nothing to worry about," Noel said, voice steady now, reassuring. "No one has ever made me feel the way you do."

Luca looked at him through the screen—still grumpy, still quiet—but there was something melting in his eyes, softening.

"You mean that?" he asked quietly.

Noel’s smile didn’t falter. "Every word."

Luca bit his lip, then let out a slow breath, the tension uncoiling just a bit from his shoulders. "...Okay."

Noel leaned closer to the camera. "And for the record? I kinda like that you’re jealous."

Luca’s eyes narrowed, but a faint, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Don’t get used to it."

Noel winked. "Too late."

Luca had moved to his bed now, the screen propped against his pillow.

Luca shifted on his bed, damp curls falling into his eyes. The gold lamp-light caught the curve of his cheekbones as he looked away.

Noel, still at his desk, leaned back, watching him in silence. His lips held a ghost of a smile.

"What?" Luca asked after a moment, voice quieter now.

Noel shrugged slightly. "You look tired."

"I am," Luca murmured, shifting under his blanket. "But I didn’t want to sleep without seeing you."

Noel’s chest tightened at that. He rested his hand over his mouth for a second, just watching Luca settle in.

"I’ve missed you," Luca added, almost in a whisper.

The words weren’t heavy—but they lingered.

Noel’s voice dropped. "I’m here."

"I know," Luca said. "But I still miss you."

There was a silence between them—not empty, not awkward.

Just full of all the things they didn’t need to explain.

Luca shifted again, pulling the blanket up to his chin, one arm bent under his head. "You were glowing today."

Noel blinked. "What?"

"At your grandma’s," Luca said, eyes half-closed now. "You looked... soft. Like the day loved you."

A flush crept into Noel’s cheeks. He glanced away with a quiet laugh. "You’re the poet now?"

"No," Luca mumbled sleepily. "Just honest."

Noel didn’t speak for a moment. Then, "She packed me enough food to last a week. My bike nearly broke in half."

Luca gave a drowsy smile. "Classic grandma."

"She made me take onions," Noel added. "Like, full-on sacks of them."

That made Luca laugh, lazy and warm. "You’re going to cry every time you cook now."

"Not if you cook with me," Noel teased.

A pause.

"Would you like that?" Luca asked, softly.

Noel nodded, and when he realized Luca couldn’t see it well, he said, "Yeah. I would."

Luca smiled faintly. "One day, I’ll wake up next to you and just... cook with you. Fight over how much salt to use. Burn the toast. Steal your shirt while the kettle boils."

Noel rested his chin on his arm, heart aching in a way that felt like hope.

"I’d let you steal every shirt," he whispered.

A comfortable hush followed. On Luca’s end, the light flickered a little. His lashes were low, eyes heavy now.

"You falling asleep?" Noel asked gently.

"Trying not to," Luca murmured. "But you make it too easy."

Noel smiled at the screen. "Then sleep. I’ll stay right here."

Luca’s eyes blinked slowly open. "Promise?"

"Promise," Noel said, settling in deeper.

Luca’s lips curved faintly as his eyes finally shut.

The screen dimmed slightly, but the warmth between them lingered.

Outside Noel’s window, the crickets had started to sing.

Noel lay back on his bed, phone resting against a pillow, tilted just enough so he could still see Luca’s sleeping face on the screen.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched him—his even breaths, the way one hand rested near his cheek, his chest rising and falling in a quiet rhythm that somehow calmed Noel more than any silence ever could.

The room had gone still, except for the soft hum of crickets outside and the occasional creak of old wood settling into night.

Noel pulled the blanket up to his waist, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely by the phone.

Luca’s faint breathing crackled softly through the speaker. Not perfect. Not loud. But real.

His eyes blinked slowly, heavy now.

But even as his lids drooped, he didn’t look away.

Luca stirred a little, eyes half-lidded. "Still there?" he murmured.

"Always," Noel whispered.

Luca smiled faintly, eyes fluttering shut again.

The minutes stretched.

Neither ended the call.

Noel’s breathing deepened as his lashes fluttered closed.

His phone, dim now, still showed Luca’s face—peaceful and close, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

Eventually, the screen dimmed completely. But the call never ended.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, they both drifted off—connected across the distance, their dreams overlapping in the invisible space between two glowing hearts.

Morning light poured in through the gauzy curtains, painting soft golden lines across Noel’s bed.

His eyes blinked open slowly, a faint crease still pressed into his cheek from the pillow.

The phone sat just where he’d left it—screen dim, call still running.

He smiled.

With a quiet chuckle, Noel reached over and ended the call. For a moment, he stared at the screen. Then his thumbs danced quickly over it.

Good morning, sleepyhead. You drooled a little, by the way.

He grinned at his own message, set the phone aside, and rolled out of bed.

Padding across the room barefoot, he grabbed his toothbrush, ran water over it, and began his morning routine—rinsing, brushing, splashing cool water over his face until he was fully awake.

He patted his face dry, reached for the phone again... no reply yet.

"Still asleep, huh," he mumbled to himself with a lopsided smile, then tucked the phone into his pocket.

Downstairs, the sound of bristles brushing against the tiled floor echoed in the quiet morning.

His mother, hair tied up in a loose bun, was bent slightly at the waist, sweeping rhythmically, a soft hum in her throat.

"Good morning," Noel greeted, stepping down the last stair.

She glanced up and smiled. "You’re up early."

He spotted the mop leaning against the wall and didn’t hesitate. "Let me help," he said, already moving to take it.

"You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he replied, dipping the mop in the bucket and wringing it out like he’d done a hundred times before.

Side by side, they worked in a quiet harmony—her sweeping, him mopping behind her.

The smell of clean soapwater and the faint scent of the hibiscus bush drifting in from outside filled the air.

"You slept well?" she asked softly.

Noel nodded. "Yeah. Slept great."

She looked at him, amused. "You smiled in your sleep."

He paused for a second, the mop still in his hand. "Did I?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, not pushing for more.

Noel didn’t say anything else. Just smiled to himself and kept mopping.

Noel dragged the mop along the tiled floor, the water leaving streaks that quickly dried in the morning warmth.

His mother swept ahead, her movements practiced and calm.

"Where’s Dad?" Noel asked, his voice light, casual.

She didn’t stop sweeping—just jerked her chin toward the kitchen with a small smirk. "He’s in there."

Noel raised a brow, a surprised grin pulling at his lips. "He’s cooking?"

She gave a quiet chuckle, not looking up. "He insisted. Said he had a ’special breakfast plan.’ I told him not to burn the house down."

From the kitchen, the faint sound of clinking utensils and a small, muffled cough echoed out.

Then the distinct smell of fried onions wafted through the hallway.

Noel smiled to himself and dipped the mop again. "Guess we better finish fast, or breakfast might turn into lunch."

They kept working in an easy rhythm—his mother sweeping toward the front door, Noel circling back to rinse and cover missed spots.

Outside, a rooster crowed late, as if it too had overslept.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You’re humming again," he said, half-teasing.

She blinked, startled, then laughed softly. "Didn’t even notice. Must be a good day."

Noel didn’t say anything, but his smile deepened.