The room was too still, the hum of the ceiling fan doing nothing to quiet the weight pressing at his chest.
Luca sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
His phone lay beside him, screen dark. He'd picked it up three times already, thumb hovering over Noel's name, only to set it back down.
What if Noel was still talking with his mother? What if she was upset with him?
He dragged a hand through his hair, restless.
The thought of Noel sitting there, facing those questions alone, made his stomach twist.
He reached for the phone again, locking and unlocking it, the seconds stretching too long.
The urge to hear Noel's voice fought against the fear of interrupting something he shouldn't.
A faint exhale left him, shaky, betraying the nerves he tried to keep down.
Luca sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
"Call him," he muttered, hand reaching—then froze halfway. "No. Don't call him."
