Chapter 173: A Watchful Truce
Luca was the first to glance away, his jaw shifting as if the weight in his chest had become too noticeable to hold still.
He cleared his throat, scooped a handful of neatly folded underwear, and busied himself stuffing them into the half-zipped suitcase.
The rustle of fabric was louder than it needed to be, a deliberate noise to fill the quiet that had settled between them.
Noel didn’t follow him. His eyes still lingered on the cluster of frames.
Something about the younger Luca caught his breath—the crooked, carefree grin, the untamed hair, the kind of unguarded innocence you only get to wear once.
Without overthinking, Noel slid his phone from his pocket, his thumb brushing the screen to life.
The shutter click was soft, barely a whisper, as he captured the image of Luca frozen in time, years younger and blissfully unaware of how much space he’d one day take up in someone else’s world.
From the bed, Luca’s voice floated over, casual but edged with curiosity. "What’re you doing over there, paparazzi?"
Noel’s lips curved, but he didn’t turn just yet. "Just... saving something worth keeping."
That made Luca pause, one sock dangling from his hand.
His chest rose, then fell, slower this time—as though those words had slipped under his skin in a way he wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
The zipper rasped shut, and Luca shoved the suitcase off the bed with a satisfied sigh. "All done."
Noel stood first, his fingers closing around the handle before Luca could. "I’ll take it."
"Always the gentleman," Luca drawled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
They moved in sync down the staircase, steps light, almost buoyant—until the sharp click of the front door freezing shut halted them on the landing.
At the bottom stood Mr. Smith, his tie loosened, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder.
The faint, sharp bite of cologne and cool city air clung to him, a stark contrast to the warm, lived-in chaos upstairs.
His gaze lifted, taking in the suitcase, the backpack, then the two boys paused on the stairs.
The very air in the grand foyer shifted.
"You’re back early," Luca blurted, too quick, too casual.
Mr. Smith’s eyes lingered on Noel. "Moving out already?" The words carried a quiet weight, though they weren’t sharp.
"Dad—" Luca started, stepping forward, his jaw squaring defensively. "This is my—"
"I know." The quiet interruption silenced the space. His gaze held steady on Noel. "Noel, right?"
Noel’s pulse jumped. He straightened, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Yes, sir. It’s an honor to finally meet you."
Mr. Smith’s mouth tugged—something between a smile and an appraisal.
He gestured toward the lavish living room couch. "Sit. Both of you."
Luca shot Noel a quick look—trust me—before dropping his backpack and tugging him toward the plush sofa.
They sat close, their shoulders brushing like a live wire.
Mr. Smith lowered himself into the armchair opposite, rolling back his cufflinks as if buying himself a moment.
His eyes never left them. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Noel. But hearing and seeing... two different things."
Noel nodded once, his pulse still racing. "I guess they are."
Luca sprawled back, arms crossed, his foot tapping a restless rhythm against the expensive rug.
"You’re quieter than Luca made you sound," Mr. Smith said, head tilted. "I thought you’d be the one dragging him out of bed in the mornings."
"Please," Luca scoffed, nudging Noel’s knee with his own. "He’s the one lecturing me about socks on the floor. Noel’s basically allergic to mess."
Mr. Smith’s eyes flicked between them, noting the reluctant tug of Noel’s smile before it broke. "Balance," he murmured. "Luca always needed someone to keep him in line."
Noel’s gaze softened as it landed on Luca. "He’s not that hard to keep in line."
"Ha!" Luca shot him a look. "Don’t lie to my dad. He knows better."
That earned the faintest chuckle from Mr. Smith—a sound Noel suspected was rare and genuine.
The man turned back, his tone deceptively casual. "So, Noel. What do you do when you’re not babysitting my son’s laundry?"
Noel caught the weight beneath the words. He sat a little straighter. "I’m still in school. I freelance too—design work. Independent projects, mostly."
Mr. Smith studied him, nodding once. "Independent. Not the easiest road. But respectable."
Noel held his gaze, steady now. "I like making my own way."
The silence that followed wasn’t hostile—more like the quiet calculation of a man measuring worth.
Then Luca broke it, grinning. "Dad, you’re grilling him like a job interview. You’ll scare him off."
Mr. Smith’s gaze didn’t waver, but his mouth curved. "If he scares that easily, maybe he shouldn’t be here."
Noel’s breath caught—but Luca’s hand slipped over his knee, a grounding, hidden touch. His voice was easy, but firm. "Trust me, Dad. He’s not going anywhere."
For the first time, Mr. Smith’s smile looked real.
Brief, but real. He leaned back, arms folding, the air softening as though the house itself had exhaled.
The silence thickened until it felt like another presence in the room.
Then Mr. Smith exhaled—slow, deliberate.
His eyes flicked to the suitcase by the stairs before settling back on them.
"So. You’re moving in together."
"Yeah." Luca straightened, his tone firm even as his hand stayed planted on Noel’s knee. "We’ll be closer to the firm during the internship. Makes sense."
Mr. Smith hummed low in his throat, a sound that carried neither approval nor disapproval. "Together."
Noel’s pulse skipped. He forced his fingers to stay still against his thigh, meeting the older man’s gaze head-on. "Yes, sir. We signed the lease together."
A beat of silence. Then, at last, the faintest curve touched Mr. Smith’s mouth—more wry than amused. "Luca, living with someone means responsibilities. Dishes don’t clean themselves. Bills don’t vanish. And patience—" his eyes flicked briefly to Noel—"is a rarer currency than money."
Luca groaned but grinned all the same. "Don’t worry, Dad. Noel already lectures me about socks on the floor. He’s practically running the place."
That coaxed a short, quiet laugh from his father.
Mr. Smith rose from his chair, smoothing the crease of his sleeve. "Then I suppose I should wish you both luck." His gaze lingered on Noel one last time—steady, weighing, but not unkind. "Take care of each other."
The words landed heavier than they sounded, a tacit blessing wrapped in a warning. Noel inclined his head. "We will."
Luca bounced to his feet, snatching up the suitcase with a burst of nervous energy. "Come on, Noel. Before Dad starts digging up my middle school report cards."
"He will never change," Mr. Smith murmured, though his mouth tugged upward.
Noel followed Luca toward the door, the brush of Luca’s shoulder against his a silent reassurance.
On the threshold, he glanced back one last time. Mr. Smith stood where they’d left him, arms folded, expression unreadable—but when his eyes met Noel’s, he gave the smallest nod. Not approval, not surrender—something quieter. A watchful truce.
Outside, the evening air was cool and sweet, the sky painted with the last deep streaks of daylight.
Luca exhaled hard, a sound of released tension, as he dragged the suitcase across the porch. "Well," he muttered, a half-grin finally breaking through, "that could’ve gone worse."
Noel chuckled, the tightness in his own chest finally loosening. "He’s... not what I expected."
"Yeah?" Luca nudged his elbow, eyes glinting with relief. "What did you expect? Fire and brimstone?"
"Something like that," Noel admitted. Then, softer: "But I think he likes you more than he’ll ever admit."
Luca shot him a sideways grin, wide and triumphant. "Told you—you’re impossible not to like."
The suitcase rattled down the walkway, their steps falling into a shared rhythm.
The weight they carried no longer felt like his or his—it was theirs now, shared.
The taxi idled at the curb, its headlights washing the driveway in pale gold.
Luca wrestled the suitcase down the last step with a muttered curse.
"Careful," Noel said, his hand shooting out to steady the handle before it could tip.
"I got it, I got it," Luca insisted, shooting him a crooked, breathless grin. "This thing is just mad at me for overpacking."
"You put half your closet in there," Noel replied, but his hand lingered on the handle for a second longer than necessary.
The driver leaned over and popped the trunk.
Luca shoved the suitcase inside with a grunt, then circled around to the back seat.
Noel slid in first, the cool leather of the seat brushing against his arm as he settled by the window.
Luca followed, their shoulders and knees knocking together as the door clicked shut, sealing them in.
The car eased forward, the grand house shrinking in the rearview mirror.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The weight of Mr. Smith’s steady gaze still clung to Noel’s chest like a second seatbelt.
Finally, Luca broke the quiet. "You held your ground back there."
Noel glanced at him. "Should I not have?"
"No." Luca shook his head quickly, his hair falling into his eyes. "I mean—you should’ve. I just... I wasn’t sure if you’d freeze up or back down. My dad can be..." He searched for the right word. "...a lot."
Noel looked back out the window, where city lights had begun to thread through the gathering dark. "He was protective. Not hostile. There’s a difference."
"Protective," Luca repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "Guess that’s his love language."
The driver’s radio hummed low, some old ballad barely audible under the steady hum of tires on asphalt.
Noel let the sound fill the silence before speaking again, his voice softer. "He cares about you. Enough to worry. That says something."
Luca leaned back, his arm brushing Noel’s as though by accident—but he didn’t move away. "Yeah, but it also means he’s gonna be watching us like a hawk now. You ready for that?"
A faint, sure smile tugged at Noel’s lips. "If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be in this car."
Luca turned to him then, really looked—his grin fading into something quieter, warmer.
He didn’t say thank you; he didn’t need to.
The way his knee pressed firmly against Noel’s, and the way he let his hand rest on the seat, palm up, an unspoken invitation between them, said enough.
Outside, the city grew brighter, alive with movement and light,while inside the taxi, the space between them narrowed until Luca’s hand, palm-up on the seat, bridged what words couldn’t.