CHAPTER 153: CLOSER THAN DISTANCE

The streetlamps blinked awake one by one as Luca turned the last corner, their soft glow stretching across the quiet road. His pace slowed when his house finally came into view.

Inside, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood floated from the study.

A faint pool of lamplight spilled through the half-open door, brushing over the slope of his father’s shoulder as he bent over his desk, pen moving steadily across paper.

Luca slipped past without a word, his footsteps barely whispering against the gleaming floor.

He didn’t pause or greet him, just climbed the stairs, the soft creak of the wood following behind.

His room waited at the top—still, untouched, like it had held its breath until he returned.

For a moment he lingered in the doorway, fingers brushing the frame as if to confirm he was really home.

Then he crossed inside, moving with a quiet he didn’t quite notice.

In the bathroom, the tap ran warm over his hands, steam curling up as he brushed his teeth.

Mint lingered sharp and clean in the silence.

He splashed water across his face, letting the coolness wash away the weight of the day before returning to his room.

The wardrobe stood neatly open, rows of pressed shirts and jackets waiting inside.

But Luca’s gaze went past all of them to a single piece tucked in the back—a worn hoodie, the faintest trace of Noel still clinging to the fabric.

He reached for it without hesitation. Pulling it over his head, he felt the weight of it settle across his shoulders, grounding and familiar, almost as though it remembered him too.

He sank onto the bed, the mattress dipping gently beneath him, the hoodie soft against his skin.

Outside, the last threads of daylight stretched thin across the floorboards, fading into dusk.

His phone rested in his palm, screen dark until he woke it with a thumb.

Noel’s name glowed at the top of his messages. The last text sat there, simple but persistent:

Meeting up with Jordan at the court, no bar I promise.

Hours old. Still no reply.

Luca’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He considered something light, something casual.

Or maybe a careful question, just to check in. Instead, his chest tightened, and he pressed the call button.

One ring. Two. Then the clipped tone of a machine: The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.

The silence afterward felt heavier than the day itself. He thought about leaving a voicemail, but the idea felt too raw. Instead, he typed two words—Good night.

The whoosh of the message sending vanished into the quiet.

His phone slipped from his hand onto the bed, screen dimming.

Maybe Noel was busy. Maybe he’d fallen asleep early.

Luca repeated those thoughts like a small shield, though they didn’t fully hold. Noel never turned his phone off. Not once.

He lay there, eyes tracing faint patterns of shadow across the ceiling, hoodie warming against his skin.

The thoughts wanted to twist darker, but he refused to give them space. Not tonight.

At last, his eyes closed. Not quite asleep. Just waiting.

Morning light pressed through the curtains, pale and unhurried.

Noel blinked awake, groggy, the taste of sleep still clinging to him. He hadn’t meant to pass out so early.

The last thing he remembered was plugging in his phone, watching the little red battery icon flicker, before the heaviness of his limbs pulled him under.

Now the charger dangled loose, cord curled on the floor.

He reached for the phone, cool and weighty in his hand, and pressed the button until it flickered to life.

The logo bloomed slowly against the black screen, like even the device had taken its time to rest.

Then the notifications came—a soft buzz, another, then another.

Luca’s name.

The first was Noel’s own: Meeting up with Jordan at the court. No bar, I promise.

The second: You fall asleep?

And the third, softer, final: Good night, Noel.

The quiet stretched as the words sank in. Noel let the screen dim again, thumb hovering but not moving. Not yet.

He set the phone aside and sat up, the sheets still warm where he’d been. His body felt heavy, but not from sleep.

The floor cooled his feet as he moved toward the bathroom. Cold water met his face, sharp and clean, dragging him fully into the day.

He lingered there, palms braced against porcelain, water dripping from his chin into the sink.

He didn’t look at the phone. Not yet.

When he finally dried his face and picked it up again, the phone felt heavier somehow. He took a deep breath and tapped Luca’s name.

The call barely rang once.

"Noel?" Luca’s voice came quickly, almost too ready.

"Yeah. It’s me." Noel rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about yesterday. My phone died. Didn’t mean to just... disappear."

There was a pause, followed by the faint sound of Luca exhaling. "I thought maybe you were upset with me," he admitted, voice quieter than usual.

Noel shook his head instinctively, even though Luca couldn’t see it. "No. Not that. Just bad timing, that’s all."

"...Alright." Luca’s tone tried to play it off, but Noel could hear the relief threading through.

Leaning against the window, Noel let the cool glass steady him. "So... you went out with Jordan yesterday?" His voice carried a teasing edge, though a hint of curiosity slipped in.

Luca chuckled. "Yeah. We shot a few hoops. That’s it. No bar, I swear."

"You even had to text me that," Noel said, lips twitching despite himself.

"Well, you don’t make it easy," Luca teased back. Then his tone softened. "I just didn’t want you thinking the wrong thing."

"I wasn’t thinking anything."

"You were," Luca replied, too quickly, too certain. Then, quieter: "It matters what you think, Noel."

Noel swallowed, words sticking. "I know."

The silence stretched for a beat, then Luca’s voice came hesitant, almost shy. "Can I... see your face?"

Noel blinked. "Now?"

"Yeah. Just for a second." Luca gave a nervous laugh that didn’t hide much.

Noel hesitated, thumb hovering, then tapped the camera.

The call flickered—and there was Luca, hair a little messy, plain black tee, leaning back against his headboard.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips. "There you are."

"I just woke up," Noel muttered. "I look terrible."

"You look real," Luca said simply, gaze steady.

The words made Noel fall quiet. His chest tightened, warmth rushing up to his face though he tried to hide it by adjusting the phone’s angle.

"See?" Luca teased softly. "This is better than texts. I can actually tell when you’re pretending you’re fine."

Noel scoffed, but the curve of his lips betrayed him. "And what do you think now?"

"That you’re tired," Luca answered gently. "But still... you’re exactly what I wanted to see this morning."

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. It hummed, alive with everything unsaid.

Luca rested his chin on his hand, watching like he was memorizing Noel’s face. "I’ve missed this... you."

Heat prickled along Noel’s skin. He tried to roll his eyes, to brush it off, but the way Luca looked at him wasn’t something he could ignore.

Seconds slipped by. Noel rubbed at his eye, muttered, "You’re staring."

"Maybe." Luca’s lips curved. "It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance."

The silence stretched again, softer this time, almost comfortable.

Noel’s phone tilted, catching more of his faint smile.

"Don’t hang up yet," Luca said.

"I wasn’t planning to."

So they stayed like that—two boys on opposite sides of the city, phones warm in their hands, saying less but feeling more.

The call became its own small world, where glances carried more weight than words.

Noel shifted against his pillows, setting the phone down at a better angle. "So... what did you eat last night?"

Luca laughed. "That’s your question? Food?"

"What else? You’re alive, so clearly you didn’t starve."

"That’s not the point." Luca leaned closer. "You could’ve asked if I missed you."

Noel scoffed, but his cheeks gave him away. "You’d just say yes and look smug about it."

"Exactly."

Luca’s grin widened, smug in the way Noel had predicted.

Noel shook his head, trying not to smile. "You’re impossible."

"Impossible and yours," Luca corrected, leaning closer to the screen as if the distance could shrink between them.

Noel rolled his eyes, though warmth tugged at his lips. "Who said you’re mine?"

"I did," Luca replied without hesitation. "And I’m usually right."

"You’re usually insufferable," Noel muttered, but his voice carried no bite.

Luca only smirked. "See? You’re smiling. Even when you’re pretending to be annoyed, you can’t hide it."

Noel covered his mouth with his hand, half to muffle the laugh slipping out, half to block Luca from seeing too much. "You talk too much in the mornings."

"That’s because I miss waking up beside you," Luca said softly. "If I did, I’d probably be quieter. Just... watching you half-asleep would be enough."

Heat rushed to Noel’s cheeks, his heart tripping at the casual intimacy in those words. "You really don’t know when to stop, do you?"

Their laughter slipped out too easily, chasing away the quiet. For the first time in weeks, Noel’s voice carried a lighter note.

But then Luca’s expression shifted. His gaze flickered away from Noel’s face, shoulders suddenly tense.

Noel frowned. "What?"

He turned his head slowly—only to see his mother standing in the doorway, a tray balanced carefully in her hands, steam curling from the cup of tea.