CHAPTER 161: OUR BOY

The kitchen air was thick with butter and garlic, a smell so rich it clung to Noel’s clothes as he set out the plates, grounding him in a moment that felt both ordinary and precious.

His mom slid the pan toward the center, eggs still sizzling, while his father reached for the bread basket like it was a lifeline.

"Don’t burn yourself," his mom warned.

"I’ve been reaching for bread longer than you’ve been alive," he countered, but he still used the tongs she nudged his way.

Noel sat down between them, the three of them close enough that their elbows brushed when they reached across for dishes.

It was ordinary, painfully ordinary—and yet rare.

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared a meal like this without the air thick with silence.

His mom buttered his toast for him, just like she had when he was a kid. "So, Luca," she said lightly, like they were just chatting about a neighbor’s cat. "Does he like to eat? Or is he one of those boys who survives on coffee and attitude?"

Noel nearly choked on his bite. "Mom—"

"What? I need to know what kind of stomach he’s bringing into my kitchen one day," she teased, eyes glinting.

His dad cleared his throat. "Coffee and attitude won’t keep anyone alive. He better eat properly if he’s going to keep up with our boy here."

Noel’s fork paused halfway. Our boy. The words landed heavy, catching him mid-bite.

He bent over his plate as if the eggs required all his attention, but a part of him ached at how easily love could slip through their voices without them realizing.

"He eats," Noel said finally, voice softer. "More than me, actually. Always stealing food off my plate."

His mom’s face brightened. "Good. I won’t trust someone who turns down my cooking."

His dad buttered another slice, then glanced sideways at Noel. "When are you heading back?"

"Later this afternoon," Noel said, keeping his tone steady, though something in his chest sank.

His mom’s hand brushed his wrist in passing, a quiet reassurance. "We’ll pack you some things for the road. And maybe you can bring Luca next time. Properly."

The table stilled for a moment, the suggestion hanging like sunlight through the curtains—soft, warm, impossible to ignore.

Noel looked from his mother’s steady smile to his father’s careful expression.

For once, he didn’t feel cornered. Just seen.

"Yeah," he murmured, letting the corner of his mouth lift. "Next time."

After the plates were cleared and his parents slipped into their usual rhythm—his mom humming as she rinsed dishes, his dad folding the newspaper with deliberate slowness—Noel excused himself.

Upstairs, his suitcase sat open on the bed, clothes folded in neat stacks that felt more final than he wanted.

He picked up a shirt, set it down, then reached for his phone when it buzzed.

The screen lit with Luca’s name. Photo after photo filled the chat—a row of sunlit windows, a narrow balcony with chipped railings, the crooked smile of a kitchen sink faucet.

Noel’s lips tugged upward despite himself. He’s house-hunting without me.

His thumbs hovered for a moment before he typed:Where’s this located?

Almost immediately, another photo arrived. A different place this time—wider rooms, soft light spilling across tiled floors.

Noel let out a low chuckle. "Not bad," he murmured under his breath, replying with the same words. Then, after a beat:

And where’s this located?

He leaned back against the headboard, suitcase forgotten for the moment.

Luca hadn’t said much in words, but the photos themselves were loud—like he was trying to draw Noel into the spaces he stood in, one snapshot at a time.

Noel’s eyes softened. He tapped his screen, studied the corners of each image like they might give him directions.

A street sign, a landmark, anything. If I can figure it out... I could just show up. Surprise him.

His heart thudded faster at the thought, fingers drumming against the phone.

He didn’t type that part, though. Instead, he just sat there, scrolling back through the photos, smiling like an idiot.

The phone buzzed again while he was folding jeans into his suitcase. He swiped it open, still smiling.

Luca: I must find the house you want today.

Luca: It was the same place near school. Not far.

Noel sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers pausing over the denim. He typed back slowly.

Noel: Near school, huh? That narrows it down.

Luca: Exactly. You won’t have to run across the city every morning.

Noel’s mouth curved, imagining Luca’s slightly bossy tone even in text.

Noel: Sounds like you’re planning for both of us already.

Luca: Obviously. Do you want me half-dead every morning, or alive enough to annoy you?

A laugh slipped out of Noel before he could stop it. He dropped the phone on the blanket for a second, shook his head, then picked it back up.

Noel: Fine, near the uni it is. Send me more later.

Luca: Promise. Don’t ignore me if I flood your phone with photos.

Noel: Like I could ever ignore you.

The typing dots on Luca’s side appeared, then vanished, then reappeared again—like he was about to say something else but changed his mind. Finally, a short reply popped up:

Luca: Just... don’t take too long, okay?

Noel’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let it linger. He sent back a simple, steady reply:

Noel: I won’t.

He locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket, letting the smile linger on his lips.His suitcase stood ready by the bed, zipped tight like it held more than clothes—like it sealed the choice he’d already made.

Near school, he repeated silently. The plan was coming together.

A soft knock came, and before Noel could answer, the door eased open. His mom peeked in, her hair tied back loosely, eyes already sweeping the room.

"Ohh, you’re done already? I thought I’d help you pack," she said, stepping inside.

Noel straightened from the suitcase, brushing invisible dust from his hands. "It’s okay. Not much to pack, anyway."

She moved closer, running her palm across the neatly folded clothes on the bed like she didn’t quite believe him. "Still, you could’ve left something for me to fuss over."

He smiled faintly, leaning against the bedframe. "I spared you the trouble this time."

She gave him a look that said she wasn’t convinced. "Alright then. Your dad will drop you at the station."

"No need, Mom. I’ll grab a taxi."

Her brow arched, that quiet insistence every mother carried. "Let him take you. He’s heading to the library anyway."

Noel chuckled softly, zipping his suitcase. "He never gets tired of going there, does he?"

"Books are his second children," she said, shaking her head, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

"I guess that makes me third place," Noel teased.

She swatted at his shoulder lightly. "Don’t start."

The suitcase wheels clicked softly as Noel pulled it upright. She lingered, smoothing a wrinkle in his shirt, her touch lingering just a beat too long. "You’ll call when you get there?"

"Of course," he said gently, meeting her eyes.

"Good." She drew in a small breath, then nodded as if convincing herself. "Come down soon. Breakfast is cleared, but I saved you an orange."

Noel laughed, shaking his head. "You always save me something."

"Because you never eat enough."

He rolled his eyes but let her win, as always. "Alright. I’ll be down in a minute."

She patted his arm once more before slipping out, the faint scent of her soap lingering in the doorway after she left.

Noel exhaled, glanced at his packed suitcase, then pulled out his phone again—his thumb hovering over Luca’s chat. A smile tugged at his lips.

By the time Noel rolled his suitcase toward the stairs, the smell of fresh tea drifted up from the kitchen. His mom was already waiting at the bottom, arms crossed, eyes darting to the bag like she’d been timing his every move.

"Finally," she said, though the softness in her voice gave her away. In her hands, a neatly wrapped brown paper bag, tied with a string.

Noel groaned lightly. "Mom—"

"Don’t ’Mom’ me. These are the snacks I made. For you and Luca both," she cut in, thrusting the bag forward. "Don’t eat them all before you get there."

He accepted it, shaking his head with a half-smile. "You know he’ll never believe I packed this myself."

"Good," she said firmly. "He should know you’ve got someone looking out for you."

Just then, his dad appeared, keys jangling in his hand, looking like he’d been ready for ages. His brows lifted at the sight of the paper bag. "Clara, really? He’s not emigrating, he’s just taking the train."

His mom shot him a look. "Excuse me, Mr. Richard, I do have to make sure my son is safe."

Richard smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Safe? You’ve packed enough to feed a football team."

"Better full than fainting," Clara countered, her hand still fussing with Noel’s collar, straightening what didn’t need straightening.

"Mom, it’s fine," Noel mumbled, ducking back slightly but letting her do it.

Richard tapped his watch, mock-serious. "Alright, Mrs, that’s enough. You’re going to make us late."

She huffed, but her eyes softened as she looked at Noel. "Just text me when you arrive, okay? And eat. And... don’t stay up too late talking."

"I will," Noel promised, though his smile gave away the fact that the last part was unlikely.

Clara’s hand lingered on his arm, thumb brushing lightly before she let go. "Good boy."

Richard jingled the keys louder, teasing now. "If we don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m starting the car without you."

Clara rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "As if you’d find your way without us."

Noel laughed, letting her voice trail behind him as he stepped into the sunlight with his father.

His suitcase rolled heavy at his side, but his chest felt lighter—pulled forward by the thought of Luca, and the promise of a home not far from school.