CHAPTER 128: FOR YOU, I’LL TRY

The soft click of a watch buckle snapped into place.

Luca stood in front of the mirror, tilting his head slightly as he tugged at the collar of his slate-blue shirt.

He smoothed his hair for the third time in five minutes, then ran a hand down the front of his chest, checking for imaginary creases.

Behind him, Noel sat casually on the edge of the bed, one leg bouncing as he adjusted the leather strap of his own watch.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, its screen lighting up with a familiar name.

George. [msg] Bro, what’s the new location? You said plans changed??

Noel didn’t hesitate. Thumbs moving fast. [reply] Club Shift. Not the restaurant. Don’t tell Luca.

Another buzz came almost immediately. [George] Damn. He’s gonna flip. You sure?

Noel’s eyes flicked toward Luca’s reflection in the mirror—fixing a cuff now, humming something under his breath.

There was a softness in Luca’s expression, something unintentionally vulnerable beneath all the polished effort.

Noel exhaled through his nose, a quiet smile touching his lips. [reply] Positive. Just be cool.

He locked the screen quickly, slipping the phone beside him before Luca could catch the glow.

"What was that?" Luca asked, raising an eyebrow without looking away from the mirror.

"Hmm?" Noel blinked up, face blank as if summoned out of a daydream. "Just George. Whining about what to wear."

Luca laughed lightly, adjusting one of his sleeves. "He better not show up in that neon shirt again. My eyes barely recovered last time."

Noel grinned. "You mean the green one with flamingos?"

"That’s the one," Luca said with mock horror. "It was... a crime. Against fashion. And probably humanity."

They both chuckled, but Noel’s gaze lingered a beat longer—watching how Luca fiddled with the same button again and again, pretending he wasn’t a little nervous.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the thought settled in his chest like something warm.

You’ll like it. You just don’t know it yet.

Luca turned from the mirror, finally satisfied, and reached for his keys on the desk.

"You ready?" he asked, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

Noel stood, smoothing a wrinkle that didn’t exist. "I’ve been ready. You’re the one doing runway laps in front of the mirror."

Luca raised a brow, smirking. "Excuse me for caring about presentation."

"Presentation?" Noel grabbed his phone, slipping it into his pocket. "You changed shirts twice. If you’d done it a third time, I would’ve called wardrobe security."

Luca clicked his tongue, grabbing his jacket from the hook with a flourish. "You act like I’m high-maintenance."

Noel blinked. "Act?"

Luca swung the door open with theatrical grace. "Mock me all you want. I look good and you know it."

Noel followed, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Mmhm. Keep telling yourself that. Just don’t cry when George shows up in that shirt again and steals all the attention."

"God forbid," Luca muttered, rolling his eyes as they stepped into the hallway.

Their footsteps echoed softly down the corridor, mingling with the low thrum of distant music and the occasional ding from someone’s microwave.

The scent of reheated noodles and fabric softener lingered faintly in the air.

As they walked, he shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers twitching slightly, eyes flicking briefly toward Luca.

"You nervous?" he asked, casually.

Luca scoffed. "About what?"

"I don’t know... tonight. The place. Seeing everyone."

Luca shrugged one shoulder, lips tight. "It’s just a night out. Not the Met Gala."

"Uh-huh." Noel nodded slowly. "Then why did you iron your jacket?"

Luca gave him a sidelong look. "I didn’t iron it."

"You did. I saw you. With the steam and everything."

"I was testing the iron," Luca said flatly.

"Sure you were."

They reached the stairwell, the buzz of chatter rising faintly from downstairs.

Laughter, music, the occasional burst of bass—it was already alive.

Luca paused at the top step, exhaling slowly. His fingers played with the edge of his jacket before smoothing it down again.

"You okay?" Noel asked, voice softer now.

Luca didn’t answer immediately. He just gave a half-smile, not quite looking at him.

"Yeah," he said after a beat. "Let’s go."

They descended side by side, neither rushing. Noel shoved his hands into his pockets.

Luca kept his gaze ahead, jaw set in that familiar mix of confidence and something quieter beneath it—something careful.

Outside, the night was warm, the sky dusted with stars and the scent of summer still clinging to the air.

The streetlights cast a golden wash over the pavement as the two of them headed toward the waiting car.

Noel’s phone buzzed once in his pocket. He didn’t check it this time.

Luca glanced over. "George?"

Noel nodded. "Yeah. He’s probably already there."

Luca tilted his head. "At the restaurant?"

Noel’s mouth curled into something unreadable. "Something like that."

Luca didn’t press.

They walked in silence for a moment, shoes tapping against the sidewalk in rhythm.

Then, without looking over, Noel said under his breath:

"You really do look good, by the way."

Luca turned slightly, brows raised—but Noel was already walking a step ahead, pretending like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Outside, the club pulsed with life—bass thudding beneath their feet, neon lights slicing through the humid air like candy-colored lightning.

The cab hadn’t even fully pulled away before Luca froze, eyes narrowing at the glowing Shift sign above the entrance. "Wait... this isn’t the restaurant."

Noel didn’t even flinch. "It’s not."

"Wait..you hate clubs," Luca said, half turning toward him, baffled.

"I still do," Noel replied, tugging his jacket tighter. "But you don’t. So tonight, it’s not about what I hate." He glanced at him, voice firm. "Two drinks. No flirting. Got it?"

Luca stared at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out who exactly this version of Noel was.

Then a smile stretched across his lips—slow, surprised, genuine. "You’re unbelievable."

"Yeah, well. Save your flirting for later," Noel said dryly, already moving toward the velvet ropes.

Luca caught up in two strides, grinning. "Wait, are you actually doing this for me?"

"I’m doing it to get it over with," Noel muttered, but his expression betrayed him—too calm, too deliberate.

"Let’s just survive tonight," he added, halting right before the bouncer. "And I repeat—two drinks. That’s your limit."

"Three," Luca bargained, giving him his most innocent smile.

Noel turned to him, unimpressed. The silence between them stretched.

"Fine. Two," Luca relented, hands up in surrender. "But I better get dancing rights."

"You’ll see," Noel said quietly, gaze flicking to the entrance as the line moved.

He didn’t say it out loud, but Luca heard it in his tone—tonight was for him.

And maybe, just maybe, Noel wasn’t planning to stand on the sidelines this time.

Inside the club, the world changed.

Bass thudded through the floor like a second heartbeat, pulsing up through their shoes.

Flashing strobes sliced the darkness into fragments—shoulders, glitter, flashes of faces in motion.

The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the faint tang of smoke.

Luca stepped in first, blinking as his eyes adjusted.

A sea of bodies moved in rhythm under the lights, each person lost in their own orbit of noise and neon.

From the far end, Emily waved like royalty—lounging in a corner booth, draped in black and confidence.

Her lipstick was red enough to draw blood, and she looked completely at home in the chaos.

Beside her, Lina sat half-slouched, chewing reluctantly on some unnaturally colored snack that Emily kept shoving toward her like it was a sacred offering.

Before Luca could even wave back, a familiar voice drawled over the music.

"Well, well... look who finally crawled out of his style crisis."

Luca turned, already bracing. "Jordan?"

"Don’t sound so shocked."Jordan raised his beer with mock ceremony, the corners of his mouth tugging into a slow grin. "Blame your boyfriend. He invited me."

Luca glanced at Noel, who was suddenly very interested in adjusting his sleeve.

"You invited him?" Luca’s voice carried both disbelief and surprised.

Noel didn’t flinch. "Thought you might need someone to insult you louder than George."

"Nice," Luca muttered, but the twitch at his mouth gave him away.

They moved toward the booth, the group already radiating chaotic energy like a living, breathing thing. It wasn’t quiet—but it was familiar. And that counted for something.

"Where’s George?" Luca asked, scanning the crowd instinctively for sequins.

He didn’t have to wait long.

"Here!"

George materialized like a glittering storm cloud, both hands full—one cocktail glowing turquoise, the other aggressively orange. His shirt shimmered like tinfoil in the lights.

"Drinking already?" Luca asked, brow raised.

George took a bold sip. "Jordan’s buying. I’m honoring the economy."

Jordan didn’t even glance up. "Don’t drag me into your neon crimes."

George clinked his glass anyway, grinning like a kid in a candy store."Thanks again, Mr. Jordan."

Luca turned, letting his eyes settle on the booth. Emily tossing her hair back mid-laugh, Lina looking like she regretted her life choices, Jordan stretched out with no regard for space, and George—vibrating with the beat.

He exhaled. "This wasn’t what I expected."

Emily crossed one leg over the other, glass poised in hand. "Neither did we. But your boyfriend. He ditched the dinner plan and upgraded it to chaos."

"And I love it," George added, already dancing in place. "Honestly, who needs utensils?"

Lina gave a long-suffering sigh. "Society."

Emily raised her drink. "To chaos."

Noel’s gaze flicked to Luca. He didn’t speak, but his nod echoed hers, quiet but steady. To us. To trying.

Luca’s fingers brushed against his briefly as he sat.

And for the first time in longer than he wanted to admit, it felt like a night worth remembering—because someone had made it one.