CHAPTER 169: DOMESTIC ANCHORS

The mall buzzed with a rhythm all its own—a symphony of clicking heels on polished tiles, the rise and fall of a hundred conversations, and the steady mechanical hum of escalators ferrying people between floors.

Noel shoved his hands deep into his pockets, scanning the neat displays and glossy storefronts as if they were part of an elaborate, unfamiliar stage set. "Where first?" he asked, half-expecting Luca to already be two steps ahead.

"Essentials," Luca declared without missing a beat, steering them toward the home goods section with the focus of a field general. "Toiletries, blankets, plates—unless you’re planning on eating cereal straight out of the box with your hands."

A short, surprised laugh escaped Noel. "Sounds like someone’s speaking from experience."

"We survived college," Luca shot back, already tossing toothbrushes and soap into the basket. "Let’s not repeat that particular tragedy."

Noel trailed behind, occasionally emitting dramatic sighs as Luca curated their new life with ruthless efficiency.

When they reached the towel aisle, Noel stopped, tugging a blindingly neon-orange towel off the rack. "This one screams personality."

Luca plucked it from his grip and swapped it for a bundle in a muted grey. "It screams migraine. Neutral tones only."

"You’re no fun," Noel muttered, though the smirk tugging at his mouth gave him away.

By the time they drifted into kitchenware, Noel’s patience had worn thin. "Plates are plates, Luca. Just grab a set and let’s go."

Luca crouched, running a critical hand over a display of white ceramic. "These chip too easily." He moved on. "And these are too small. Do you want your food spilling everywhere at every meal?"

Noel dragged a hand down his face. "You’re overthinking dinnerware."

"Dinnerware sets the mood," Luca replied without flinching. He slid a sturdy, simple set into the cart, then his gaze snagged on the mug section. Something there made him stop, his usual sharpness softening into contemplation.

He lifted two mugs—simple, unassuming, but with subtle, complementary designs.

One was adorned with a tiny, minimalist crown, the other with a single, delicate heart.

He held them up with a gravity that made Noel instantly wary.

"Oh, look," Luca said, his voice suspiciously bright. "Couple mugs. Perfect."

Noel pinched the bridge of his nose. "We do not need couple mugs."

"Yes, we do. How else will people know?" Luca tapped the crown mug. "This one’s me. Obviously." He dangled the heart one in front of Noel’s chest. "And this is you."

Noel took it reluctantly, turning the smooth porcelain over in his hand as if it might bite. "It’s ridiculous."

"And romantic," Luca corrected, already dropping both into the cart before Noel could mount a proper protest.

Noel folded his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "You just want an excuse to drink coffee like we’re newlyweds."

"Would that bother you?" Luca asked, his tone deceptively casual as he pretended to study a wall of kettles.

The question lingered, heavier than expected.

Noel hesitated, then shook his head with a quiet, conceding laugh. "You’re impossible."

"Practical," Luca said smoothly, not turning around.

Noel trailed after him, fighting the smile that threatened to break free.

Somehow, amid the mundane debate over mugs and plates, the air between them felt warmer, thicker—like they were building more than a shopping list; they were building a home.

Their cart rattled softly as they moved on, Noel’s hands back in his pockets while Luca led with renewed purpose.

"Next stop—bedding," Noel announced, his voice calm as he scanned the signs overhead.

Luca blinked. "Bedding? Didn’t we already grab a blanket?"

"One blanket won’t be enough." Noel steered them toward the towering shelves of folded linens, his eyes roaming with quiet calculation. "You move too much in your sleep. You’ll kick it off halfway through the night."

Luca froze, caught mid-step, then shot him a sharp, intrigued look. "You’ve been... watching me sleep?"

Noel didn’t flinch, just tested the weight of a thick quilt with a practiced hand. "I notice things. Someone has to."

A smirk tugged at Luca’s mouth, his tone tilting into playful accusation. "Careful, you’re starting to sound like you care."

Noel ignored the jab, placed the quilt into the cart, and moved to the pillows.

He pressed one experimentally, then reached for another.

"That one’s fine," Luca said, plucking a single pillow from the stack. He hugged it against his chest with a dramatic flourish. "One is enough. Means we’ll have to cuddle closer."

Noel shot him a quiet, almost amused glance, then—without a word—set a second pillow neatly into the cart.

"Hey, hey," Luca protested lightly, leaning over the cart with a grin dancing in his eyes. "You’re ruining my plan."

"You’ll survive," Noel murmured, moving past him, his face unreadable though his lips held the faintest curve.

Luca trailed after him, deliberately brushing his shoulder against Noel’s as they walked. "I don’t mind the extra pillow... as long as you’re the one I get to lean on."

Noel’s hand tightened on the cart handle, though he didn’t reply.

Instead, he kept walking, his silence the only thing stopping the full smile that threatened to break across his face.

They lingered in the home section longer than either had planned.

Noel took his time, weighing the heft of pans, checking the grain of wooden spoons, and selecting utensils with a quiet certainty that made Luca restless.

"You’re really acting like we’re about to open a restaurant," Luca muttered, picking up a ladle and spinning it between his fingers.

Noel didn’t look up. "You cook noodles in your hands?" He tested the balance of a frying pan and set it gently into the cart.

Luca rolled his eyes. "Fine. But when I’m famous, don’t expect me to do the dishes."

"Noted," Noel replied, though the faintest twitch of amusement betrayed him.

They moved to glassware. Luca stayed close, occasionally brushing his shoulder against Noel’s like a bored cat seeking attention.

He reached for a delicate wine glass, holding it up to the light. "This one’s perfect. Thin. Elegant. Just like me."

Noel finally looked at him. "Fragile."

Luca choked on a laugh. "Wow. Cold. Didn’t know I signed up to be roasted in the home section."

"You insisted on coming," Noel said, calmly stacking two sturdy, plain mugs into the cart. His tone was steady, but the corners of his eyes had softened.

By the time they reached the end of the aisle, their cart looked less like a random collection and more like the foundation of a shared life: matching plates, sturdy bowls, a warm quilt, extra pillows.

Little domestic anchors neither of them dared to name aloud.

Luca leaned on the handle, studying the pile with a crooked, triumphant grin. "You know... this looks suspiciously like couple shopping."

Noel didn’t glance at him, didn’t rise to the bait. He only gave the cart a small push forward. "Then stop announcing it so loudly."

Luca tilted his head, watching him. "You’re not denying it though."

For the first time, Noel’s composure cracked—just slightly.

His hand on the cart tightened, a faint shadow of a smile tugging at his lips as he steered them toward the registers.

Luca caught it. He didn’t say another word. He only followed, his own grin widening.

The cashier scanned each item, the quiet beeps punctuating the comfortable silence between them.

Noel stood steady, gaze drifting over the accumulating bags as he mentally tabulated the cost, while Luca leaned casually against the counter, chin propped on his hand, watching Noel instead of the process.

When the last item was bagged, Noel reached for the handles, but Luca was quicker, scooping up half the bags before Noel could protest.

"You’ll hurt your back," Noel said, not quite frowning.

"And you’ll ruin my heroic image if you take these from me," Luca shot back, striding ahead toward the exit with mock bravado.

Noel shook his head, but he didn’t push it. He simply adjusted the strap of the heaviest bag on his own shoulder and followed.

The sliding doors hissed open, spilling them into the chill of the evening air.

A cool wind lifted stray strands of Noel’s hair and bit at their cheeks.

Luca glanced at him, then down at the bags in his own hands, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Feels like we just robbed a home store."

"Robbed?" Noel echoed, calm as ever. "You’d be the worst thief. Too noisy."

Luca chuckled, tilting his head toward him. "Good thing I’ve got you to keep me in check."

The words hung between them, casual and light, yet laden with a truth heavier than he intended.

Noel didn’t answer, but the faint crease at the edge of his mouth deepened—almost a smile.

They walked side by side, bags swaying between them, their pace unhurried as if the world beyond this street could wait a little longer.

The weight of the bags began to tell, and Noel glanced at Luca’s hands, reddened from the tight plastic handles. "If it’s too heavy, let’s just take a cab," he said, his tone offering a practical solution, not pity.

Luca turned his head, one brow lifting in challenge. "A cab? For a ten-minute walk? What, do I look fragile to you?"

Noel’s eyes lingered on him for a beat, unreadable, then shifted back to the path ahead. "You look reckless enough to sprain your wrist carrying a ten-piece dinner set."

That earned a full, bright laugh from Luca, the sound echoing warmly in the quiet street. "Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong, then." He exaggerated his posture, hoisting the bags higher with a comedic grunt.

Noel shook his head, a quiet sigh escaping him, but he didn’t argue further.

He simply slowed his pace by half a step, falling into perfect sync beside Luca, their shadows stretching long and intertwined under the emerging streetlights as they carried their new life home, together.