Chapter 142 ORDINARY MOMENTS
Chapter 142 ORDINARY MOMENTS
The five of them drifted out of the cafeteria, leaving the scrape of trays, the sharp clang of cutlery, and the messy blur of voices behind.
The air outside was colder, twilight dragging its cool fingers across their faces. At the edge of the dorm hall, they split without thinking, like water finding its old channels.
Sam grumbled about tomorrow’s drills right up to his room, then vanished with a wave that was half complaint, half salute.
Off ahead, Jack and Luca moved together at a steady clip, Luca’s hands shoved deep in his pockets,
Jack fiddling with the strap of his bag and skimming the shadows for threats, a habit he never managed to shake—he scanned faces, doorways, anyone lagging too close behind.
Jay stuck close to Noah, close enough their sleeves brushed with every other step. Jay’s gaze flicked between Noah and the shifting campus.
Ever since the suspension, Jay kept himself angled between Noah and everyone else, his tone loose but eyes quick, never straying far for long.
Their talk drifted—how Sam had eaten his own weight in fries, how Coach had gone red and sweaty announcing the new captain, how Sam managed to grumble about leading practice while stealing everyone else’s food.
Nothing heavy. Just words to fill the space between them. They rounded the stairwell to Noah’s door.
Noah stopped, body braced in front of the door. Jay took a step, then realized he was alone and turned around, face open and puzzled.
“You’re not coming?”
Noah’s fingers tightened around his bag strap. He shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Jay’s expression went all wounded theatrics. “Why?”
“I have to study.”
Jay groaned, slouching even further against the wall. “You study too much.”
“That’s because some of us actually want to pass.”
Jay dropped his voice, coaxing. “Come to my room. You could study there. Peacefully.” His thumb kept tracing circles against Noah’s hand, like he couldn’t help marking possession.
Noah shook his head again, firm. “Jay.”
“What?”
“I’ve been staying with you a lot lately. I don’t want to disturb Sam’s space.”
Jay shrugged that off immediately. “Sam won’t mind.”
Noah gave him a look, eyebrows up, voice a little sharper. “You don’t know that.”
Jay rolled his eyes and sighed hard enough for the whole hallway to hear. He slid his fingers between Noah’s, thumb restless against pulsating knuckles. “But we’re having dinner together, right?”
Noah’s face softened. Jay watched the way Noah’s shoulders relaxed, like someone had pressed pause on whatever nervous energy had built. “Yes.”
Jay made a show of pouting. “Fine. I’ll miss you for now.” He leaned in and kissed Noah’s cheek—quick, but somehow real, not a thing for show.
Noah cracked a genuine smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.”
Noah turned his key. He glanced back, waiting, finding Jay still standing there—a shadow at the end of the hall, always reluctant to leave first.
“Go.”
“I’m going.”
“You’re still standing there.”
Jay didn’t move. “I’m appreciating the view.”
Noah rolled his eyes and ducked inside, the faint click of the door. Jay lingered. Only when the hall was totally quiet did he grumble under his breath, “We’ve literally been together all day,” and finally push off the wall to leave.
Inside Jack and Luca’s room, the door slammed with more force than necessary—Jack’s doing, always checking the lock. He scanned the hallway reflexively, then relaxed only when it was just the two of them.
Their bags hit the floor and Luca zeroed in on the overflowing laundry bag immediately the sour tang of sweat, detergent, and bodies crowding the small space.
He strode over, snapped the drawstring open, and peered inside, wrinkling his nose. “We’re doing laundry.”
Jack bent to untie his shoes, not glancing up. “No.”
Luca’s voice went sharp with surprise. “No?”
“Not now.”
Luca hauled the bag up with a grunt, clothes spilling over his fingers. “Now.”
Jack finally looked over, his face tired but mouth stubborn. “Luca.”
Luca jutted his chin at the heap. “Look at this. Half of our clothes are in here.”
Jack just shrugged. “We have other clothes.”
“That’s not the point,” Luca said, voice muffled as he fished out a shirt from the pile.
Jack shrugged again, shoulders loose but eyes wary.
Luca held up one of Jack’s shirts. “This is yours.”
Jack, finally meeting his gaze, ran a mental inventory. “Probably.”
“You wore this yesterday.”
Jack frowned. “And?”
“And it needs washing.”
Jack took a step closer, his body sliding into Luca’s space, voice lower, coaxing. “Or… we could stay here.” He wrapped an arm around Luca’s waist, squeezing lightly, the gesture more protection than play.
Luca groaned, recognizing the game. “No.”
Jack’s mouth quirked up. “All day.”
“No.”
“Just you and me.”
Luca squirmed, batting Jack’s arm away, but Jack just squeezed tighter, leaning in like he could dissolve whatever distance was left.
“Jack.”
“What?”
“Laundry.”
He groaned, dramatic as always. “I’d rather be here with you all day.”
Luca snorted. “We’ll be together at the laundry. Walking together. Romantic.”
Jack actually looked wounded. “That’s punishment, not romantic.”
Luca finally gave in, peeling Jack’s arm from his waist. “Later.”
Jack pressed a kiss against his jaw, sneaky and very fast.
“Promise?”
Luca’s brow lifted. “Later.”
Jack snagged another kiss, bold this time. Luca turned away, trying not to smile. “Now.”
Jack slumped back in defeat. “You’re ruining everything.”
“Good.”
Eventually, they got down to work, trading blame for each other’s laundry and mixing up shirts like it was a silent argument about whose was whose. Jack’s tone shifted the second he glimpsed something off—his gaze always cutting briefly toward the door, a silent check, before settling back on Luca.
When Luca laughed and called him out, Jack just grinned the way he always did—like nothing could actually touch them here.
They headed down to the laundry space, shouldering their bags. The building was nearly empty, hums and clangs echoing. Jack hung back a step, always watching Luca’s back as they moved inside.
He kept his eyes peeled on the people around them, shoulders tense and broad, moving a little in front like a wall between Luca and the rest of the world.
Inside, the place smelled like warm air and soap, the machines’ groaning and clattering blurring into the background.
As they loaded up a washer, Jack started goofing off, stealing shirts out of Luca’s pile. When Luca reached for them, Jack grinned, quick, sly.
“Jack.”
“What?”
“Give me that.”
Jack just smirked. “It’s mine.”
Luca plucked it away, muttering about trust issues, but Jack’s mouth curved up and his focus hardly broke—a little joke, but he kept shifting position to put himself between Luca and the open doorway.
The front door banged open. Two rugby players wandered in, big, broad, carrying themselves like they owned the space. One recognized Jack. His face lit up with a cruel grin.
“Hey, hockey captain.”
Jack didn’t blink, just rolled his shoulders, jaw tightening. His eyes flicked over the newcomers—assessing distance, escape, threat. Luca could feel the shift, the way Jack’s body went rigid.
“Heard you got suspended.”
Jack’s voice was flat. “Mind your business.”
A snicker. The second rugby boy chimed in, “Guess being captain doesn’t mean much now.”
Jack straightened, the muscles at his jaw flexing. Luca pressed a hand to Jack’s arm, heat and tension running through his palm. “Jack.”
Jack didn’t move. The biggest rugby player sneered, looking between the two of them.
“What? Your boyfriend gonna stop you?”
The word hung there, ugly and heavy. Jack’s fists balled. Luca’s grip tightened, his own body slotting closer to Jack’s side, steady. The rugby guys laughed, tossing the word over their shoulders as they left.
Jack stared after them, stone still. You could almost smell the sick punch of anger—sweat and hot breath and old, sour fear. Luca didn’t say anything, just stayed at Jack’s side till the tension bled out of Jack’s fists.
“Sit.”
Jack grunted. “I’m fine.”
Luca didn’t let go. “I know. Sit anyway.”
Finally, Jack relented, sinking down till their shoulders pressed together, the physical contact grounding both of them. The humming washer filled the silence. They didn’t speak.
Later, back upstairs, Jack dropped their clean pile on the bed. The air was filled with the comfort of fresh soap and cloth.
He kept glancing toward the door always half-expecting the next bad thing.
Luca started folding, precise, methodical. Jack tried to join in, but his folding was half-hearted, eyes never quite still.
“You’re still thinking about them.”
Jack’s silence said everything. Luca just kept folding, like nothing had happened.
“Jack.”
Nothing.
“You know what happens when you keep thinking about people who don’t matter?”
Jack finally looked over. “What?”
“You give them more time in your head than they deserve.”
Jack blew out a long breath. “I hate that they can say things like that and just walk away.”
Luca’s gaze was clear. “Then don’t follow them.”
Jack glanced down. Luca cut the tension by tossing him a shirt.
“Fold.”
Jack grimaced. “You’re giving me chores now?”
“Yes.”
“Cruel.”
Luca tossed another shirt—deliberately bad, landing right in Jack’s lap. “Besides, you have more important problems.”
Jack arched a brow. “Like what?”
Luca grinned. “You fold terribly.”
The fake argument turned to flying shirts, laughter echoing against the bare walls, the bed turning into a battlefield of cotton and polyester.
In between attacks, Jack caught himself looking at the door less; he let out a laugh that was all relief and no edge.
Clothes hit faces. Ducking, dodging, Jack finally caught Luca around the waist, lifting him off the floor.
Luca howled with laughter, wriggling free, only to end up pressing Jack onto the bed. They collapsed together, breathless.
Luca ended up tucked against Jack’s side, head resting on his shoulder, Jack stretching to stroke Luca’s hair.
The room filled with nothing but the gentle rush of breath and the lingering scent of detergent, their heartbeats slow, in time with each other.
“Don’t stop.”
Jack smiled, fingers moving lazily. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Neither felt the need to fill the stillness. After all the noise, the shame, the old anger, this quiet—this felt safe.
Finally, Luca tilted his head to look at Jack. Their eyes met. Some conversation passed between them without words.
“What?”
Jack shook his head. “Nothing.”
Luca arched an eyebrow. “You’re staring again.”
Jack’s half-grin flickered. “I’m allowed to.”
The kiss they shared then didn’t need approval. It was slow, sure, steady something nobody else got to break apart.
When it ended, Luca pressed his forehead to Jack’s, their arms tangled in the aftermath.
“Better?”
Jack smiled, soft and small. “Much.”
Luca leaned into him, shoulder to chest.
Jack’s voice dropped, the words almost lost in the pile of half-folded clothes. “I really did miss you.”
Luca’s answer was no louder. “I know.”
“And I’m still sorry.”
A gentle touch along Luca’s cheek. “I’m going to do better.”
Luca just looked at him, gaze gentle but unmoved. “You don’t have to promise me perfection.”
Jack laughed quietly, breath warm against Luca’s hair. “Good. Because I’m terrible at perfection.”
“That,” Luca replied, “I noticed.”
Jack wrapped his arms around Luca, drawing him close. The chore forgotten, the two of them just laid there, tangled up in each other, letting the world fade away—just the thumping of their hearts and the simple, silent rest of being together.