Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL] Chapter 140: A Different Kind of Homecoming

The ride back was quiet.

The driver didn’t ask questions, and Luca didn’t offer any.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the blur of city lights and early autumn leaves.

The farther they drove, the more the noise of the dormitory faded into silence.

When the car finally pulled into the gated driveway, Luca looked up.

The house stood at the far end—modern, sleek, and a little too cold-looking. White stone walls.

Tall glass windows. Everything precise, untouched.

The pool rested silently at one side, its still surface mirroring the grey sky like it hadn’t been disturbed in days.

He stepped out, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his shoes the only sound greeting him.

Inside, the main room slled faintly of cedar and sothing roasted—maybe breakfast, maybe just warmth.

He didn’t expect anyone to be there.

But his dad was.

Standing by the kitchen island, still dressed in a crisp button-down like he hadn’t quite decided whether to stay or leave again.

Their eyes t.

His dad’s voice was even, casual. "So... sester’s over?"

Luca gave a small nod. "Hmm."

His dad leaned slightly against the counter. "Co in. Welco ho."

"Thanks," Luca replied, voice low.

He headed toward the stairs, suitcase in hand.

The house looked exactly the sa, yet sohow smaller than he rembered.

"I’ll go unpack," he said when he reached the first step, though he didn’t move right away.

"Luca."

He stopped, turned.

His father stood there, one hand half-raised like he was reaching for sothing but forgot what.

For a second, he looked unsure—like there was sothing more to say.

Instead, he cleared his throat. "Breakfast’ll be ready soon."

Luca gave a faint nod, then turned back up the stairs.

There were no hugs in this house. No dramatic welcos.

But behind the quiet, behind the asured words and pauses—Luca had always known.

Even if he never said it out loud, his father loved him. In his own silent, restrained way.

And now, seeing him like this... he could tell.

Sothing had shifted.

Luca stepped into his room and closed the door softly behind him.

He didn’t unpack.

The suitcase waited by the doorway, half-unzipped—like even it wasn’t sure how long he’d stay.

His shoulder bag slid from his arm and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

The room was just as he’d left it yesterday—shirts draped carelessly over the back of his chair, books stacked unevenly near the bed, a hoodie half-folded at the foot of it.

His laptop charger still dangled from the socket, forgotten.

It should’ve felt familiar. But it didn’t.

He stood there for a while, eyes drifting across the shelves, the posters, the faint handprint on the mirror when he wiped it.

The sa view from the window. The sa silence, thick and undisturbed.

Downstairs, he could hear the faint clatter of dishes—the housemaid setting up breakfast. Porcelain eting wood. Cutlery shifting.

He sat on the edge of the bed, not quite ready to lie down, not quite ready to leave either.

The sheets still slled faintly of the lavender spray he always used.

But now it was buried under dust, under ti. Like sothing almost forgotten.

Luca looked at the small plant by the window. It was drooping slightly.

Overwatered, probably. Or maybe under. He wasn’t sure anymore.

He let out a quiet breath, leaned back on his hands.

This was ho.

And for once, the stillness didn’t press against him.

It held him.

But for the first ti... it didn’t feel like it.

The soft clatter of plates and the warm scent of eggs, toasted bread, and sothing fried drifted through the hallway as Luca made his way downstairs.

His father was already at the table, sipping black coffee, reading sothing on his phone. He looked up when he heard Luca’s steps.

"Co. Sit," he said, voice calm but edged with a quiet authority that hadn’t changed over the years.

Luca nodded and slid into the chair opposite him.

The housemaid appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. His father turned to her. "And no more cooking for one," he said. "Luca’s back."

She chuckled softly. "I saw him yesterday. He just slipped in."

His father’s gaze shifted back to Luca, brow lifting. "You ca back yesterday?"

Luca gave a small shrug. "Yeah. I didn’t pack anything. Just... ca in."

His father studied him for a second longer, then gave a quiet nod, as if sothing in that answer made sense to him.

There was a mont of silence—thick, but not uncomfortable. Just... familiar.

"So," his father said finally, setting the phone aside. "How were the exams?"

He already knew. He’d probably spoken to Luca’s advisor or checked the report himself. But still, he asked.

Luca reached for a slice of toast. "They were fine."

His father didn’t press. He just gave another nod—approving, not surprised.

"You seem more focused now," he added, voice steady. "It shows."

Luca didn’t say anything right away. He broke the toast in half, eyes on the steam rising from the egg.

"I’m trying," he said at last.

His father humd, almost inaudibly. "That’s good."

The silence returned, not cold... just quiet. The kind that had filled their house for years. But today, it didn’t feel as distant.

Just two people trying to et sowhere in the middle.

The housemaid reappeared with a small tray. She placed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of Luca, then gave a soft smile.

"Still no sugar, right?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Luca nodded, grateful. "Yeah. Thank you."

She returned to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone again.

His father leaned back slightly in his chair, watching Luca with that quiet, unreadable gaze he often wore.

He didn’t say much. He never did. But as Luca reached for the juice, his father slid the bowl of mixed fruits closer to him—without a word.

It was a small gesture. But Luca noticed.

He always noticed those small things—the way his father made sure his favorite bread was on the table, the way the coffee pot was already set, even though Luca never drank coffee unless he was ho.

The way the kitchen light was left on the night before, just in case he ca in late.

Unspoken, but felt.

"You’ve been quiet lately," his father said, not accusing—just observing.

Luca swallowed a piece of pineapple. "I guess I’ve been thinking more."

His father gave a thoughtful nod. "That’s not a bad thing."

Another pause. Then, as if testing unfamiliar ground, his father added, "I’m proud of how you handled this sester."

Luca’s eyes flicked up, caught off guard. That wasn’t sothing his father usually said aloud.

A second passed before he replied. "Thanks. That ans a lot."

His father didn’t respond imdiately. He just gave a single, almost imperceptible nod—and turned back to his plate.

But under the table, Luca’s grip on the glass softened. The tension in his shoulders eased.

The warmth between them wasn’t loud. It never had been. But it was there—steady, real, and enough.

The table was cleared, the housemaid humming softly as she wiped down the counter.

Luca leaned back in his chair, the last sip of juice still cold in his mouth.

His father checked his wristwatch, stood, and straightened his collar.

"I’ll be at the office if you need anything," he said, lingering by the archway.

Luca nodded. "Okay."

Their eyes t for a second—brief but weighted—before his father gave a short nod and left. The front door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled in, soft and steady.

Luca pushed back his chair and stepped out through the sliding door, letting it shut behind him with a soft clink.

The morning air wrapped around him—warm, quiet.

The scent of sothing green lingered faintly, maybe the hedge behind the pool or the fig tree leaning over from next door.

He walked barefoot to the edge, feeling the stone patio cool beneath his feet where the sun hadn’t touched.

The pool shimred—clear, still, untouched. Like it had been waiting.

He lowered himself down, careful, easing his weight onto his palms.

The cold surprised him.

The water, clear and undisturbed, mirrored the sky above.

He sat down slowly, rolled up the cuffs of his sweatpants, and dipped his legs in.

A small ripple broke the surface, circling outwards.

The water was cooler than he expected—sharp against his skin, almost refreshing.

He sat there, one hand propped behind him, the other running over the smooth concrete edge.

The gentle lapping against his calves was the only sound.

He tilted his head back, eyes half-closed.

The silence wasn’t empty here—it was full. Of mories. Of changes. Of words that had never been said out loud, but were sohow always understood.

The quiet around him didn’t ask questions. Didn’t expect him to speak. It just... held him.

His chest loosened. His jaw unclenched. Shoulders eased down, inch by inch.

He didn’t have to be anyone here.

Didn’t need to make sense of anything—not right now.

And maybe that was enough for today.