Morning sunlight spilled across the small dining table, warm and honey-colored, catching on the steam that rose from their coffee mugs.
The world outside was barely stirring, but inside, everything felt slow and alive—like the day was theirs before work claimed it.
Luca sat across from Noel, already dressed, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He was halfway through his own toast but more focused on the man sitting in front of him.
Noel, neat as always, looked put-together—tie in place, hair brushed—but his plate was barely touched.
Luca sighed, pushing another forkful of scrambled eggs toward him. "Eat."
"I'm eating," Noel said without moving.
"No, you're pretending to."
Noel gave a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. "You sound like my mom."
Luca smirked. "Your mom doesn't cook for you like this."
That earned him a look—half amused, half resigned. "I said I'm full."
