Tuesday arrived without ceremony.
No dramatic shift. No big moment.
Just the soft insistence of morning light and the quiet routine of two people learning how to live beside each other in real time.
Luca woke first again, blinking slowly at the ceiling like he was negotiating with the day.
Noel was warm against him, one arm thrown carelessly across Luca's chest, hair mussed from sleep, breathing slow and even.
Luca didn't move.
He stayed there, breathing him in, fingers resting lightly at Noel's waist.
The city was already awake outside—distant horns, the faint rumble of traffic—but in here, the world was still small. Still theirs.
Noel stirred after a while, voice rough with sleep. "You're staring."
"I'm existing," Luca murmured.
"You're avoiding."
"I'm appreciating."
Noel's mouth curved, eyes still half-closed. "Same thing."
Luca kissed his shoulder, unhurried. "Tuesday is rude."
"It's just a day."
"It's a day that wants me to leave."
