Chapter 176: The Smell of Home
The morning came slow, a soft silver light seeping through the gaps in the curtains.
Noel stirred first, the familiar, comforting weight on his chest now replaced by the warm tangle of sheets.
Beside him, Luca was still deep in sleep, his lips curved into a faint, unconscious smile, mumbling something into the pillow that made his brow furrow and then smooth again.
Noel lingered there, simply watching. For once, Luca wasn’t teasing or demanding; he was just utterly, peacefully at rest.
Noel almost reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead but pulled his hand back, reluctant to break the spell.
A soft smile ghosted across his lips as he slipped quietly out of bed.
The apartment felt hushed, still carrying the faint, lingering scent of their takeout from the night before.
Boxes of kitchenware were stacked messily in one corner, abandoned in their exhaustion.
Noel crouched, tugging one open. He began to unpack with a slow, methodical rhythm—plates stacked neatly, glasses washed and set on a towel to dry, each sound muted, careful not to disturb the silence.
A fine layer of dust clung to the shelves. He wiped them down, the cloth moving in smooth, unhurried circles until the dark stone counters gleamed under the growing light.
There was no urgency in his steps; every motion was deliberate, almost meditative, as if he were willing this space to feel like home from its very first day.
When he slid open the balcony door, the morning air washed in, crisp and cool.
The curtain swayed, and there, tucked within its folds, was the cat, its tail twitching in a lazy rhythm.
Noel bent down, his voice a soft murmur, as though speaking to an old friend. "Morning," he whispered, reaching out a hand.
The cat blinked at him, slow and unbothered, before stretching.
He straightened and found the bag of cat food, shaking a generous portion into a small ceramic bowl before setting it down.
The soft clatter drew the cat over immediately, its whiskers dipping into the food without a moment’s hesitation.
Noel stood there for a moment, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips as he watched, before turning back inside.
The apartment was waking with him—curtains now drawn back, sunlight spilling wider across the polished floorboards, the faint, pleasant hum of a space finally being lived in.
He moved through it quietly, putting a gentle order to their new life, while in the bedroom, Luca remained lost in dreams, untouched by the morning.
Noel finished the last of the boxes, flattening them and stacking them neatly by the door.
The apartment looked different now—less like a place they had just arrived in, more like a space that was already beginning to belong to them.
He stood for a moment in the quiet, brushing dust from his hands, before heading back to the kitchen.
The counters were clear, the pans hanging overhead gleamed faintly in the morning light.
Noel set to work, moving with unhurried care—eggs cracked into a bowl, bread set to toast, the faint, satisfying hiss of butter spreading across the pan.
The smell rose slow and steady, weaving through the space with something deeply homely.
Behind the bedroom door, Luca stirred. He blinked into the gentle light, his hair falling over his forehead, the sheets slipping down his bare shoulder.
For a moment, he simply breathed in, catching the rich, comforting aroma drifting down the hall.
A slow, contented smile tugged at his lips.
He slid out of bed, padding barefoot across the cool floor.
His steps were quiet, but his eyes were bright, softened with a warmth reserved solely for mornings like this.
In the kitchen, Noel was bent slightly over the pan, focused, humming a nameless tune under his breath without realizing.
He didn’t hear the footsteps closing in, not until arms slipped around his waist, strong and sure, pulling him back into the warm curve of a familiar chest.
Noel stilled for a heartbeat, then let out a small, contented breath, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "You’re awake," he said softly, not turning, the spatula still poised in his hand.
Luca’s voice brushed against his ear, low and teasing, but lazy with sleep. "Hard not to be with that smell. You’re spoiling me already."
Noel laughed under his breath, tilting his head slightly toward him without pulling away. "Breakfast isn’t exactly spoiling."
"It is," Luca countered, pressing his chin lightly to Noel’s shoulder, as if reluctant to let go. "Especially when it’s you making it."
The pan hissed quietly, the morning light stretched further across the floor, and in that little kitchen, the day began as gently as it could.
Noel eased him off with a small smile, nudging gently at the arms still looped around his waist. "Go sit. I’ll be done in a minute."
Luca hesitated, but the tone held a fond firmness that left no room to argue.
He kissed the back of Noel’s shoulder in a fleeting, warm press, then drifted to the counter stool, dropping onto it with a soft thud.
From there he just watched—Noel moving calmly between the stove and the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his hair falling into his face as he worked.
There was no rush in him, only a steady, capable care, the kind of presence that settled the entire room.
Luca’s eyes wandered past him for a moment, taking in the apartment.
The clutter from yesterday was gone; boxes flattened, their things neatly arranged, the whole space touched by a quiet, purposeful order.
It didn’t take much guessing to know who had done it.
He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, studying Noel with a lazy, deep fondness. "You should’ve woken me," he said at last, his voice low, almost sulking but softened by the smile tugging at his mouth.
Noel glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched in playful skepticism. "And miss the chance to see you mumbling in your sleep? Not a chance."
Luca chuckled quietly, caught off guard by the affection in the tease.
He let his gaze linger on Noel a moment longer, the corners of his eyes creasing with unmistakable warmth.
The gentle clink of cutlery against a plate marked the end of Noel’s work.
He slid the last dish onto the counter and exhaled, a quiet sound of satisfaction.
"All done," he murmured, almost to himself.
Before he could even reach for the cloth to wipe his hands, Luca was already on his feet.
His stool scraped lightly across the floor as he closed the distance in two easy strides, leaning over the counter like a boy who couldn’t wait for dessert.
"That smell..." His grin was wide and impossible to hide. "If it tastes half as good, I’m doomed."
Noel shot him a look, half stern, half utterly amused. "Sit back down. You’re worse than a kid waiting for candy."
Luca obeyed, though with exaggerated slowness, dragging out the chair and dropping onto it with a dramatic sigh.
He rested his elbows on the table, chin propped in his palms, watching every move as Noel set the plates before them.
"You really did all this just now?" Luca asked, nodding toward the tidy living space before glancing down at the perfect breakfast. "Cleaned up, cooked, unpacked... You’re spoiling me."
Noel shrugged, slipping into his seat across from him. "Or maybe I just didn’t trust you to survive the first morning without me."
That earned a laugh—low and warm, cutting right through Luca’s chest.
He picked up his fork with the eagerness of someone completely unashamed. "Then don’t ever stop not trusting me."
The first bite had Luca’s eyes shutting on instinct, a soft, appreciative sound escaping his throat that made Noel raise a brow.
"You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in days," Noel said, though his lips twitched at the corners.
Luca leaned back in his chair, fork in hand, grinning without a shred of shame. "I mean, technically... not like this. Whatever you put in here? It’s dangerous."
Noel cut into his own portion, pretending not to notice how Luca kept glancing up between mouthfuls. "It’s just eggs and toast, Luca."
"Mm." Luca shook his head, chewing slowly, deliberately. "No, it’s not just eggs and toast. It’s you making it. Big difference."
Noel tried to hide it, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, coloring a faint pink. He reached for his mug, using the rising steam as a convenient shield. "You’re ridiculous."
"Maybe," Luca said, still chewing, still watching him with that unwavering, fond gaze. He tapped his fork lightly against the edge of his plate with a rhythm only he seemed to know. "But if ridiculous gets me breakfasts like this, I’m fine staying that way."
Noel finally looked at him, and for a heartbeat, the room felt quieter than before—just the soft scrape of cutlery, the distant hum of the city waking outside, and Luca’s eyes lingering as though the food wasn’t what he wanted most.
When the plates were nearly empty and the coffee had cooled to the perfect temperature, Noel set his fork down with a soft clink, wiping his hands on a neatly folded napkin.
"You can handle the dishes," he said, almost offhand, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.
Across the table, Luca froze mid-bite, his fork still poised in his mouth.
His brows lifted as though Noel had just suggested something utterly outrageous.
He chewed slowly, buying time, then swallowed. "The dishes?" he repeated, feigning profound disbelief.
"Yes," Noel replied, leaning back in his chair with an air of quiet, earned satisfaction. "You enjoyed the meal. You can at least return the favor."
Luca let out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging his hand over his face. "You know I have a complicated relationship with dish soap, right? My skin—fragile, delicate, not meant for manual labor."
Noel didn’t even blink. "Then wear gloves."
Luca pointed at him with his fork, waving it as if making a critical closing argument. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. Gloves ruin my dexterity. And what if I drop a plate? Imagine the tragedy."
Noel’s lips curved into a full, knowing smile, but his eyes stayed steady. "So you’re saying you’re skilled enough to play with fire on stage, but not strong enough to hold a sponge?"
That earned a laugh, low and unwilling, from Luca.
He leaned back in his chair, studying Noel as though he’d been outmaneuvered in a game he hadn’t even realized they were playing.
"You’re dangerous when you’re smug," Luca muttered, but he pushed his chair back anyway, dragging his feet toward the sink with a performance of utter defeat.
Noel just watched, his arms folded loosely across his chest, the faintest, most triumphant smile tugging at his mouth as his victory was secured.