The morning light spilled softly across the kitchen—warm, golden, unhurried.
The scent of toasted bread and coffee filled the air, a quiet rhythm marking the start of another workday.
Noel sat at the table, sleeves rolled neatly, watching as Luca fumbled with his tie one-handed while chewing at the same time.
"Slow down," Noel said, voice calm but amused. "You're going to choke."
Luca waved him off, a muffled, "I'm fine—" escaping before, predictably, he coughed hard enough to prove himself wrong.
Noel sighed, already sliding his chair back.
He patted Luca's back firmly, his tone caught somewhere between worry and resignation. "You never listen."
"Wasn't—" cough "—planning to die before the presentation," Luca rasped, reaching for the glass of water Noel was already handing him.
"Good," Noel murmured. "Because I'm not doing CPR before coffee."
Luca swallowed, then laughed—soft, breathless, but genuine. "Noted."
