They lingered longer than they should have, letting the quiet morning stretch until Noel finally rose, brushing an invisible crumb from his shirt. "We'll be late."
Luca groaned but stood anyway, grabbing his bag from the chair. "Fifteen minutes won't kill us."
"It might," Noel said, opening the door and holding it just long enough for Luca to slip past.
The elevator hummed as it carried them down.
Neither spoke, but the silence wasn't cold—it hummed with something alive just under the surface.
Luca leaned against the railing, hands buried in his pockets, sneaking glances at Noel's reflection in the brushed metal wall.
Noel stood tall, a folder tucked neatly under his arm, his face a calm mask that wasn't quite relaxed.
When the doors slid open, the morning air spilled in—cool, bright, and threaded with the sounds of traffic and hurried footsteps.
Luca shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, falling into step beside him.
