Luca scraped the last bit of omelette from the plate, sighing like he'd just completed a heroic quest. "And thus ends the saga of the Great Breakfast."
He pushed back his chair with exaggerated exhaustion.
Noel raised an eyebrow. "You cooked it. I ate it. Balance demands you handle the dishes."
"Balance is overrated," Luca said, stacking the plates anyway and carrying them to the sink. "Besides, the true artist never cleans his canvas."
Noel followed, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. "Convenient philosophy."
Luca flicked on the tap, water rushing steady.
He glanced sideways, catching Noel's gaze. "You're just going to stand there and supervise?"
"Quality control."
"Oh, right," Luca muttered, foaming the sponge. "Because the fate of mankind rests on whether I rinse properly."
Noel didn't answer, just shifted closer until his shoulder brushed against Luca's.
Quiet, subtle, like it happened by accident.
Luca stilled for half a beat, then smiled at the sink.
