CHAPTER 163: CLOSER THAN HE KNOWS

The train pressed forward with an unusual speed, almost eager—as if the rails themselves were complicit in Noel’s secret, hurrying him back to the city.

He sat restless, his phone face-up on the table.

He tapped the screen awake again. Still no reply.

A low sigh escaped him.

His thumb hovered, tempted to send another message, but he pulled his hand back, tucking it under his thigh like a stubborn child preventing his own mischief.

When the screen finally lit, it wasn’t a text. Luca’s name flashed in bold letters.

Noel froze. His heart leapt, but so did his nerves. If he picked up, Luca would hear the muffled announcements, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on steel. He’d know. The surprise would be ruined.

The phone buzzed once, twice. Noel grabbed his bag, dug out his earphones, and plugged them in frantically before answering. He slipped one earpiece in, leaned back, and forced his voice steady.

"Hey."

On the other end, Luca’s tone was clipped but familiar, threaded with exhaustion. "Finally. You were quiet."

"Signal’s bad," Noel lied smoothly, his eyes drifting to the rushing blur outside the window. "Where are you now?"

"Still at it." Luca’s voice carried the faint noise of traffic, hurried footsteps. "Met a friend earlier, wasted more time than I planned. Now I’m with the agent—he says there are a few more places we can check."

Noel bit the inside of his cheek to stop a grin. He could picture it too clearly: Luca striding alongside the unlucky agent, arms crossed, eyes scanning buildings like he was judging them for crimes.

"Tiring yourself out, huh?" Noel teased softly.

"I have to. We said near campus, remember? That limits the options. Most of these are... well." He gave a humorless laugh. "You saw the pictures."

Noel hummed, his gaze sliding to the carriage ceiling as if to hide a secret smile. "Yeah. You’re picky."

"Picky?" Luca scoffed, indignant. "I call it refusing to live in a rat hole."

Noel chuckled, the sound warm and private, his fingers tightening on the edge of his phone.

He wanted to say more—to tell Luca how much he missed the sound of his voice, how badly he wanted to close the distance between them.

But he kept the words tucked inside, let the train carry his secret for him.

Noel adjusted the earpiece, leaning his head against the cool glass as the scenery blurred past.

A faint smile played on his lips, Luca’s voice an anchor in the train’s quiet hum.

"So apparently, the agency assigned another agent to show me the places," Luca said, slightly out of breath. "He promised to help me get a better deal. We’re meeting in a few minutes. I’m telling you, I’ll find us the place today—no matter what."

Noel chuckled, careful to mute the sound. "Sounds like you’re running a whole mission there."

"You’re laughing now, but just wait," Luca replied, a grin evident in his voice. "I’ll make sure you won’t complain about leaky pipes or peeling paint. This time, I’m picking only the best."

"Mm, ambitious," Noel teased. "Don’t forget to check the kitchen too—I’m not living anywhere I can’t sneak snacks at midnight."

Luca scoffed. "Figures. I’m out here negotiating with strangers and you’re worried about snacks."

"That’s balance," Noel said, his tone fond.

There was a pause—long enough for Noel to imagine Luca pushing a hand through his hair, narrowing his eyes the way he always did when trying not to smile.

"You’re annoying," Luca muttered finally, his tone betraying his affection.

Noel’s grin widened, his secret held safely against his chest.

Luca didn’t have a clue he was already halfway back, rushing closer with every mile.

The train swayed, carrying Noel through streaks of green fields and quiet towns. He barely noticed.

His focus was tethered to the voice in his ear, Luca’s footsteps echoing faintly as if Noel were trailing behind him, unseen.

"Hold on—yeah, I see you," Luca said, his words muffled as he greeted someone. A door scraped open, followed by a low murmur in the background. "Okay, we’re inside now. The agent says this one’s newly painted."

Noel shut his eyes, letting the words paint the picture.

He could almost see Luca, sharp-eyed, assessing every corner like it was buried treasure.

"White walls. Big window. You’d like it, I think—it faces the street, lots of light." Luca’s voice softened, turning thoughtful. "The living room’s small, but... cozy. Not cramped. And the kitchen..." A soft pause. "You’ll love this one."

Noel’s smile deepened, his forehead resting against the glass. He didn’t need photos. Luca’s voice was enough, every detail slipping neatly into place in his mind.

"You sound like you’re already moving in," Noel teased gently.

"Not yet." Luca let out a quick, nervous laugh. "But I want to find something that makes you smile when you walk through the door. That’s the one I’ll pick."

Noel’s chest tightened. He wanted to say, I’m already on my way, I’ll be there to see it with you. Instead, he only hummed, masking the warmth that threatened to spill into his voice.

"Noel? You there?"

A station announcement cut through Luca’s voice, calling out the next stop. Noel’s grip tightened on the phone. He swallowed, the urge to linger battling with the press of reality.

"I’ll... call you back," he murmured quickly, before Luca could question him. The line went dead.

He slipped the earpiece out, tucking it deep into his pocket like evidence. The train shuddered to a halt.

With a practiced motion, Noel pulled his suitcase down.

The wheels thumped against the floor, the sound loud in the hush of arriving passengers.

His heart thumped in time—fast, reckless.

The doors slid open. A gust of city air rushed in, familiar and thick with the scent of asphalt, recent rain, and roasted coffee from a kiosk nearby.

Noel stepped onto the platform, his chest filling with something sharp, bright, and impossible to contain.

His eyes drifted toward the spot by the barrier.

The memory was clear—Luca standing there when Noel had left, hands in his pockets, his face a mask of stubborn pride and unspoken ache.

He hadn’t chased him then. He’d only watched, a look that had carved itself into Noel’s bones.

Now, Noel was back.

He adjusted his grip on the suitcase handle, drawing in a breath that felt heavier than it should.

The crowd flowed around him, but he moved at his own pace, each step weighted with the significance of return—and the secret he still carried close.

Meanwhile Luca stared at the dark screen of his phone, Noel’s abrupt departure leaving a void of static in his ear.

"So, I’m guessing that means he didn’t like this one either," he muttered.

The agent beside him—sharp suit, thinning patience—gave a tight laugh that sounded more like a sigh. "That makes... what, the fifth today?"

"Sixth," Luca corrected, stuffing his phone into his pocket. "But who’s counting?"

"You are," the agent shot back, eyebrows rising.

Luca grinned, unbothered. "Maybe. But hey, if you think I’m picky, you should hear Noel. He has standards."

The agent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Luca, at this rate, even if I showed you the mayor’s penthouse, you’d still say the curtains don’t match the view."

"That’s because curtains should match the view," Luca said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

The agent gave him a look of pure despair and waved toward the street. "Fine. Next one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you if you hate it."

"Hate is a strong word," Luca replied as they walked. "I prefer... ’not the one.’" He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes, hiding the restless thought that Noel had cut the call short for a reason.

He followed the agent, his stride light and voice playful—a mask for the quiet impatience buzzing in his veins.

The next house stood tall on a quiet street, all white shutters and a neat little garden.

"Now this," the agent announced with a flourish, "is a gem. Single house, three bedrooms, and the owner just redid the kitchen."

Luca stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the high ceilings and polished floors. He whistled low. "Pretty," he admitted, running a hand over the banister. "But Noel would hate it."

The agent’s shoulders slumped. "What could he possibly hate about this?"

Luca pointed to the living room windows. "Too much glare in the morning. He’d complain his coffee goes cold before he can finish it."

The agent forced a smile. "Not everyone cares about that."

"Exactly. But Noel does." Luca wandered further in, pausing at the fireplace. "This is nice. He’d like the warmth. But..." he tapped the brick, "...wrong shade. Too orangey. He prefers something neutral. Trust me, he’d notice."

The agent dragged a hand down his face. "Mr. Luca..."

"Oh, and the garden," Luca added breezily, already stepping toward the back. "Too small. Noel would say it feels like a cage. He needs open air, space to breathe. Something wilder. Not this—" he waved vaguely at the neat hedges, "—postcard cutout."

The agent’s jaw twitched. He set down his clipboard with an audible thud. "Alright. One last option. After that, we’re calling it a day."

Luca turned back, sunglasses hooked on his shirt collar, a teasing grin on his lips. "Relax. I’m not that impossible."

The agent muttered under his breath, "Says the man who rejected six perfectly good homes."

"What was that?"

"Nothing." The agent plastered on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Come along, Mr. Luca, maybe you will like this one."

Luca chuckled, falling into step behind him. "Maybe. Or maybe Noel will."

The agent’s car pulled into a quieter street, stopping before a cream-painted building that looked fresher than the others.

A neat little parking lot stretched beside it.

"Third floor," the agent announced, jingling his keys. "Decent size. Recently renovated."

Inside, the stairwell smelled of fresh paint and someone’s cooking.

By the time they reached the third landing, Luca’s steps had slowed.

He let the agent unlock the door, and when the apartment opened to them—clean floors, wide windows, light spilling in like it wanted to stay—he stopped just past the threshold.

"This one’s... not bad," he admitted, though his arms folded quickly after, as if catching himself before sounding too hopeful.

The agent arched a brow. "Finally, some positivity."

But before Luca could answer, his phone buzzed. He fished it from his pocket. Noel.

He pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

A beat of silence, then Noel’s voice, casual but charged. "Where are you?"

Luca glanced around the apartment. "I found another one. It’s... beautiful. I don’t know if you’d like it, though."

"Which street?"

"One corner from that convenience store," Luca said, pacing slowly toward the window, "the one not far from school. We used to pass it all the time."

There was no reply for a second, just the faint static of the call. Then Noel’s soft hum, as though he were holding something back. "Mm. I remember."

The line clicked dead. Luca lowered the phone, staring at the screen a moment longer than necessary.

The agent exhaled, dropping his keys into his palm. "That’s it for today. I’ve shown you everything. You’ll either pick, or we wait until something new comes up."

Luca followed him out, his mind still on the clipped call. At the door, he gave a shrug that felt lighter than he was. "Fine. Let’s continue tomorrow."

The street outside was quiet, washed in the last gold light of afternoon.

Luca shoved his hands into his pockets as he and the agent walked away from the building.

"It doesn’t matter," Luca muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "I’ll find the right place. For him."

His words faded into the growing dusk, the determination in them carrying further than he knew.

And somewhere, already closer than he imagined, Noel was walking toward him.