Chapter 133 SMALL ACTS

Chapter 133 SMALL ACTS
The morning crept in, gray and dull through the blinds.

Jack woke up before Luca did. For a second, he just stared at the ceiling the same spot, the same crack, the same empty side of the bed beside him. He turned his head, slow.

Luca was still out cold. Face smushed into the pillow, lips parted a little, hand curled up close, almost like he was reaching for something in a dream.

The light caught the curve of his cheek. The shadows under his eyes looked deeper these days.

Jack watched him, just for a moment long enough to memorize the way his chest moved, steady.

The way his brow had lost that tension for once. Peaceful. Funny how that can still happen, even after all that happened.

He didn't reach out. Didn't shake him awake. Just watched, then slipped out of bed as quietly as he could.

The cold floor bit his feet. He moved around the room quiet as a ghost. Bathroom door clicked shut.

Water ran. Faucet groaned a little. When he came out, his hair was wet. He was dressed.

Luca moved, finally. Opened his eyes, slow. Stared at the ceiling, then turned toward Jack.

Jack already had his clothes on.

The silence between them just sat there. Awkward. Too heavy for this early. Even the hum of the building felt louder than usual.

Jack spoke first, soft. "Morning."

Luca didn’t meet his eyes. “Morning,” flat and quick.

That was it.

Jack crossed the room toward the door, hand on the knob. Only, he paused. Something on the floor.

Luca’s skate laces they were in pretty rough shape. Ends splitting, fabric barely holding together.

Usually, Jack would have made fun of him. Something like, "You're going to trip and break your neck, and I'm not carrying you to the infirmary." Luca would roll his eyes, Jack would grin. That’s how it always went.

Not today. Jack knelt, dug through his bag, pulled out a new pack of laces. He’d grabbed them a few days back, after Luca complained his old ones were toast. Still in the package. Fabric bright white, plastic a little crinkly.

He set them on Luca’s side of the table. Quiet, but the sound still broke through.

Luca saw. “What’s this?”

Jack kept his eyes on the door. "Your laces were shot."

Luca’s voice got sharp. "I can buy my own."

"I know."

A beat.

"You don’t have to use them."

Jack just left it at that. Walked out, closed the door behind him soft click.

Luca stared at the laces. They didn’t match anything else in the room. Fingers twitched toward them, but he stopped. Didn’t touch. Didn’t throw them out, either.

Maybe that was the first crack.



Luca headed down the hallway to the cafeteria. Fluorescents buzzed overhead, pale light on worn carpet.

The smell of coffee and grease got stronger with every step. His stomach twisted, but he went on anyway. Sam would be waiting.

He pushed through the doors and the whole chaotic roar of the cafe hit him all at once. Trays banging, voices everywhere, chairs scraping tile.

Warm in there, and the smell of eggs, coffee, and something fried clung to the air. Sun lit up the steam over the food line.

Sam was already at their table by the window, as always his tray stacked absurdly high, cramming food into his mouth at record speed. He grinned when Luca slid in across from him.

Luca just looked at his plate. Didn’t touch it. Wrapped his hands around his coffee, the only thing still warm.

Sam frowned, stabbed his fork at Luca. "You're not eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're never hungry, man. It’s honestly getting weird."

Luca just shrugged, eyes fixed somewhere out the window. There was a bird there for a second, then it took off.

Sam leaned in, elbows on the table. “New rule. Eat half, or I’m telling Coach you’re sick.”

Luca stared at him. "You wouldn’t."

Sam grinned. "Try me."

Luca poked at his eggs. Took one bite. They were cold. Rubbery. Barely tasted like anything.

Sam nodded, smug. “That’s my boy.”

Kian appeared at the table. His tray was light, a single coffee and a pastry. His smile was easy, his posture relaxed. "Morning."

Sam looked up. "You don't have practice. Why are you always here?"

Kian shrugged. "I enjoy your company."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "That's suspicious."

"It's genuine."

"It's suspicious and genuine."

Kian reached for the salt shaker at the same moment Sam did. Their hands brushed. The contact was brief. Kian's fingers were warm against Sam's.

Sam pulled back like he'd been burned. "Gross."

Kian raised an eyebrow. "I touched your hand. It's not a crime."

"It's a violation of personal space."

"You invaded my space."

"I was here first."

Kian sighed, the sound long and dramatic. "You're exhausting."

Sam pointed at him, his fork still in his hand. "You're a senior. Act like one."

Kian grabbed the salt. "I am acting like one. I'm tolerating you."

Sam's jaw dropped. "I'm going to complain to Coach."

"About what? Me being nice?"

"About you being you."

Luca watched them, his eyes moving between their faces. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. The corners of his mouth twitched. A small smile tugged at his lips. It was barely there. But it was real.

Kian noticed. He winked at Luca. "See? I'm good for you."

Sam made a gagging sound. "I'm going to throw up."

Kian patted his shoulder. "That's your fourth breakfast."

"It's my emotional support breakfast."

Luca laughed. The sound was small, surprised. It caught in his throat. His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't expected it to escape. His hand came up to cover his mouth.

Sam pointed at him. "There. That. More of that."

Luca shook his head. But his smile didn't disappear.