Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Matty and Hermione agreed to wash up the dishes, leaving Noah and Quinn free from any chores.

‘Come with me.' Noah guided Quinn into the hallway. The large hall felt cold compared to the kitchen, where conversation had turned to Hermione's career highs, her escapades on set, and a story involving George Clooney and Tom Hanks.

‘Shouldn't I be listening to that?'

‘It's nothing I couldn't tell you,' Noah said. ‘Besides, she will tell you all of that again. Any excuse she can get to reminisce.'

He loved Hermione for wanting to recount her blessings with no shred of shame, knowing he would do the same if he experienced a life like hers.

The house was impeccably clean. Quinn made a mental note to compliment Ivy when he saw her next. A Christmas tree flashed in the hall's corner with wrapped presents underneath the boughs. Quinn noticed that she drew red velvet curtains over windows, no doubt to stop the prying eyes of the non-existent press.

‘Upstairs.' Noah climbed the sweeping staircase, his hand trailing along the polished oak banister. Quinn followed him, curious, wondering what Noah wanted to show him.

They emerged onto a landing that was bigger than Quinn's apartment bedroom – he was sure of it. On the wall, a painted portrait of a man with a crown beamed down at them, and Quinn stopped to admire it.

‘Richard Booth was a character, wasn't he?'

‘Shame the Booth monarchy didn't last. I would have married into it.'

‘Me too.'

‘Ah, but there would have only been one prince,' Noah said. ‘Then who would have got him?'

‘A love triangle, like one of your romance novels!' As Quinn said it, he realised maybe he was in a love triangle himself. He knew Noah was well and truly off limits. He rationalised that any attraction, any flirtation, had been in his head. Yes, Noah was attractive, but that was it.

Just attractive.

He fancied him, sure.

Completely normal.

Off limits.

‘You alright? You look like you've entered a daydream.' Noah brought Quinn back to the hall.

‘Yeah, just thinking about the prince that could have been,' Quinn said, and no, he had not been thinking about him being a king with Noah as king consort by his side. No way.

Noah smirked, then showed an antique cabinet at the end of the hall. Quinn hadn't noticed it, such was the imposing artwork of Richard Booth, but he saw behind the glass of the cabinet were trophies that made his mouth drop open.

Golden statues winked at him, catching the light from the hallway's chandelier. As Quinn approached, he saw the bright face of a BAFTA and two flaxen statues of knights.

‘Hermione won two Oscars?'

‘She did indeed.' Noah failed to hide his pride. ‘And the BAFTA. She had something from an indie film fest, too, but I don't know where she put that.'

‘Noah, this is incredible!'

‘Isn't it just?' Noah said. ‘Since being here, I've caught her a few times standing here and staring. She won two Oscars in a row, both for Christmas films she was in. The BAFTA was for a drama portrayal she did for TV.'

‘I think I underestimated her acting talent.'

‘Hey, that's not a bad thing,' Noah said. ‘She went into hiding by the time you and I were born.'

‘Went into hiding?' Quinn asked. ‘You think she's hiding?'

‘Don't you?'

There was a meow and then a thud followed by the fluffiest cat Quinn had ever seen. Orange eyes contrasted with tortoiseshell fur, and its tail looked more like a fluffy brush. Without thinking, Quinn fell to his knees, like an olden day peasant seeing their king for the first time.

Mr Lavender the cat trotted straight past Quinn, because of course he did, and rubbed himself instead around Noah's legs.

Never had Quinn been so jealous of a cat.

Quinn cleared his throat, getting to his feet. Noah was laughing.

‘I've never seen someone fall to the floor when they see a cat.' Noah laughed. ‘What were you in a past life? An ancient Egyptian?'

‘Funny,' Quinn said. ‘I'm always on my knees.'

Did he just say that?

Noah raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you?'

‘For cats,' Quinn spluttered. That still didn't sound good.

‘Of course.'

Mr Lavender left Noah and came to Quinn, a purr emanating from deep within. Quinn got to his knees again and scratched behind Mr Lavender's ears.

‘Wow, he never does that to strangers,' Noah said. ‘He won't go anywhere near Matty.'

‘Oh, no way.' Quinn tried to hide his pleasure that he was better at something than Matty.

Mr Lavender decided he'd had enough of saying hello to the humans, and trotted down the stairs, running to the kitchen.

‘I'm surprised he didn't come for food.'

‘He's only now realising there was any,' Noah said. ‘By the way, I heard what Matty said to you about writing Hermione's book – that's bull. She didn't ask him and he didn't submit a thing.'

Matty lied? And if he lied, Noah was telling him this because…?

Quinn observed Noah's crossed arms, the way his eyebrows knitted together. ‘Are you okay?'

‘Matty can be … difficult.'

Quinn clasped his hands together, the rush of adrenaline sending quivers through him. This seemed like dangerous territory. Him and Noah, alone, talking about Matty.

‘How so?'

He needed to play it casual, but he wanted to find out how Noah felt. Quinn thought back to Noah's interview in his bookshop and how he'd mentioned heartbreak. Quinn assumed he'd been heartbroken, but if he was still with Matty, that wouldn't make sense.

Unless something was happening underneath the surface.

And if it was, what did that mean for Quinn? Did it mean he stood a chance?

He pushed these thoughts away before they could fully form. Here he was at Noah's side, and all he could think about was how he benefitted from it? No, that was bad.

‘We're having a few problems at the moment.'

But those words couldn't help but alight the hope within him. Problems? If there were problems, then there could be a potential breakup. And if there was a breakup, well … maybe that would mean he had a chance.

Again, Quinn hated himself for even going there.

‘What problems?'

‘Matty has an ego,' Noah said, not meeting Quinn's eye. ‘I don't know why he told you he was going to write Hermione's book, because that wasn't the case at all. Hermione wanted you because she knew your father. End of. She didn't even consider anyone else.'

‘Lucky I applied, then.'

‘Yeah.'

Quinn nudged Noah. ‘I didn't mind him saying that, you know.'

‘I worried he'd offended you.'

They turned from the cabinet that held the awards, and Noah walked away from the stairs. Quinn followed, not sure where they were going, but hoping and praying that this moment with him would last forever.

‘Not offended. Just…'

‘Made you realise what I have to deal with?'

Matty lied. Noah noticed. And now Noah was sharing his grievances with Quinn like they were friends? Like he could trust him? He admitted to himself that he'd been relieved to hear Matty wasn't a choice at all. At least he could whole-heartedly remind himself that Hermione wanted him, and only him.

‘Noah. Is everything alright with you and Matty?'

Noah shrugged. ‘Does it matter?'

‘Yes, it matters.'

‘Why, Quinn?'

They hovered in the hallway, lost in the shadows of Hermione's home. Noah, close to him. His eyes were so beautiful. They held him pinned to the wall.

‘Why does it matter if everything is okay with me and Matty?'

Even now, in this moment, Matty's nickname sounded playful.

‘I want to know that you're okay,' Quinn whispered. ‘And I want you to know that you can trust me.'

Noah's hand found Quinn's, sending shockwaves to his heart.

‘Matty cares about how he can get ahead in this life,' Noah said. ‘He cares more about his career than anything else. I support that, but…'

Noah let go of Quinn's hand and leaned against the wall. Noah's arm, so close to his face. Noah, so close to him.

‘Are you happy, Noah?'

‘That's a loaded question,' Noah breathed, his eyes darting over Quinn's face.

‘Are you happy with Matty?'

‘I don't know.'

Quinn closed his eyes, wishing he could say everything he wanted to say. He'd got better at finding his voice. Speaking his mind. He'd felt proud of himself for finding the fight within, something that had faded when his father died. Right now, he sensed he should fight. He could load the gun and shoot the bullet and kill whatever relationship Noah had with him, or with Matty. Because all Quinn wanted to do was kiss the man before him. He wanted to offer his support however he could. Selfishly, almost like Matty, he wanted to do something for him for once. Not care about who he hurt, or the consequences of what he did. But he couldn't go there. He couldn't influence Noah, change his mind. This was something he needed to figure out for himself.

‘Do what is right for you,' Quinn said.

Noah dropped his arm, the moment between them broken.

He walked, and Quinn followed. Quinn couldn't talk about Matty. His mind whirled with possibilities of what Noah was thinking, what he was feeling. Not only was he in Hay, a place he didn't want to be, but he was with his mother, being reminded of her health and the troubles she'd faced. Dealing with a man who might not be good for him. That comment on heartbreak had never felt clearer.

‘You asked me if I think she's hiding.' Quinn kept his voice low, despite the vastness of the house. ‘I've thought of that before.'

‘From the outside, what were your thoughts?' Noah asked, and he reached for a door handle. ‘And what are they now that you know her?'

Noah led them into a bedroom. He was aware of that familiar, comforting smell of books, one that was earthy and yet clean. A salt lamp cast an orange glow around the room, accentuating the impressive size. Two large windows gave a glimpse of the outside snowy world. The carpet was worn, clean. An oak table at the back of the wall was framed by the many well-read paperback books stacked in neat piles, their creased spines facing outwards. Quinn passed the fresh double bed and looked at the collection, noticing the alphabetised author names.

His eyes drifted to the table, the messiest part of the room, only because two empty mugs sat next to a laptop that had been left open next to handwritten frantic notes.

‘Is this your bedroom?'

‘It is,' Noah said. He watched him carefully, his deep green eyes taking in his expression, his reaction.

Oh, my god. He was in Noah's bedroom!

His room, where his personality shone through. Noah kept this neat. His wardrobe, which Quinn thought might lead to Narnia, such was its familiar appearance, didn't even have any loose clothes sticking out of the door, like Quinn's own wardrobe.

And now he noticed it. Beneath that paperback smell, there was something else. Something more human. A living smell. A boy smell, but not a teenager – it was a man who took care of himself, maybe even pampered himself. He tried to place the smell, which was like citrus. Quinn wished he could bottle it up and use it as his own perfume.

He spotted an oak door in one corner of the room. ‘What's in there?'

‘Ensuite,' Noah said.

Of course there's an ensuite.

‘Your room is beautiful.' Quinn went back to the paperbacks, his head tilting, reading the spines.

A soft rustle came from behind, and Noah joined him, his shoulder inches away from Quinn. Quinn stepped slowly towards Noah, as if caught by the Oscar Wilde edition on the shelf. Noah didn't move, instead letting Quinn into his space.

‘How long have you had these?' Quinn asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

‘Years.'

Noah caught Quinn's eye, holding him down, trapped between author and bookshelves. ‘Eyelash.'

Noah reached out, his fingers grazing the side of Quinn's nose. Quinn didn't move, fearful that if he did, Noah would fracture into pieces.

Words evaded him. They'd escaped and found refuge in the stacks of old books in front of them.

Noah gestured to the bed as he went to sit at his desk. Quinn perched at the end of the mattress, his heart beating hard. He drew in, crossing his arms, feeling like he had infringed on something so private, like this was a moment he shouldn't be a part of. A bedroom was a sanctuary, a place one retreated to when they needed their own time, their own space.

‘We're staying here while we're with Mum,' Noah said.

‘Childhood bedroom?'

‘Yes,' Noah said. ‘Never used to be this clean, I'll have you know. I went through a lot in this room.'

Quinn was once again reminded of Noah's childhood, which sounded difficult.

‘When did you hear the stories of your mum?'

‘Ever since my first day in school,' Noah said. ‘I knew something was different. Teachers would force a smile, ask how Hermione was in a sweet voice, but then I'd see them whisper to the other teachers, point me out. The parents would whisper when they picked their kids up from school, crane their necks to see who was in our car. It was Mum at first, and then it wasn't, because she realised people were staring at her.'

‘How did you get home if she didn't pick you up?'

‘She had a cleaner pick me up,' Noah said. ‘Not Ivy of course. Then, when I was old enough, I'd walk home or get the bus. As I got older, and the kids got older, they started making fun of me for being the son of a … well, their words weren't kind. That's why I drew away and started finding escape in books. They were all I needed.'

‘That must have been tough.'

Noah ran a hand through his blond hair, looking down at the threadbare carpet. Quinn wished he could move closer to him, but Matty swam into his thoughts, and he knew he couldn't do it, knew he never would be able to.

‘I resented her because of it,' Noah said. ‘I couldn't look at her the same way. When I found stories of her on the internet, it made me feel so ashamed, so embarrassed. I wanted to run as soon as I could.'

‘Which is why you left?'

‘That's right.' Noah sighed. ‘Mum wanted me to finish my education, and by that point, I could see her for what she was. She was paranoid, upset, and broken. Then she went on medication for depression. I think she's still on that, you know. But it was heavy, and I was going through my own stuff. You know, discovering that I liked men, feeling ashamed of that, but also her. I hated myself, hated this place. By that point, I was being made fun of for everything. I was too smart. A nerd. I was called posh boy, gay boy. The list went on. At one point, the tape made its way around the school. Can you believe that?'

Quinn had suffered at the hands of bullies during his own time at school, but never like that. Never like Noah. They'd gone to different schools, yet lived in the same town. Quinn wished he had known Noah then, wished he could have been his solace, his peace. Quinn had needed someone while growing up, but this made Quinn realise he hadn't needed someone as much as Noah. It was then that he was on his feet, sitting on the edge of the table, just a few inches away from Noah, who turned towards him. Their knees almost touching. Inches away from one another, that scented perfume reaching Quinn.

‘Is this okay?' Quinn whispered.

Noah nodded, biting his lip. Without realising what he was doing, Quinn brushed Noah's fringe away from his face, seeing him in ways he'd never seen him before. Open; vulnerable.

‘I needed out of here, so I left,' Noah said. He leaned into Quinn's touch, closing his eyes as Quinn's hand ran through his hair, resting at the back of his head. ‘I left her to deal with it. Abandoned her. I was young and selfish, and didn't comprehend what she was going through. We didn't speak for a few years.'

‘Do you regret it?' Quinn asked. He knew his hand rested too long, had strayed too far. It took all his energy to drop it, to increase the distance between them. ‘Moving away to the city? Leaving this behind?'

‘No,' Noah said, looking ashamed to say it. ‘Not wholly. I went to London and learned to love myself. Met some amazing people, and not so amazing people, but I found my voice. In London, I wasn't Hermione Sage's son. The world moved on in London. In London, I could be anybody.'

Noah leaned against the table, angling his body closer to Quinn's, closing the gap Quinn had created. This time, their legs touched, and Quinn felt hot lava erupt inside him, pulsating through every nerve and fibre of his being. Every sense seemed to heighten. The warmth of Noah's leg against his own, the smell of the paperback books, and the aroma of Noah himself.

‘And I wrote the books and then it all came out,' Noah said. ‘People started putting two and two together. Hermione was back in the limelight, the past dragged up. People asked me questions about her like she was dead. I realised I missed her, and that the world, the media, treated her unfairly. I realised she was a victim, and she needed me. So I reached out to her and she let me back.'

‘She would let you back,' Quinn said. ‘You're her son.'

‘I was a pretty horrible son.'

‘You were frustrated and hurting, too,' Quinn said. ‘You had to cope in your own way.'

Noah's hand found his. That same large hand, larger than Quinn's, the golden-brown hair crisscrossing along the back over blue veins and knuckles. His grip set Quinn's heart racing, and he wondered if he was going to have a panic attack. They were close now, too close, and Quinn, aware of everything, was aware of how much higher he was than Noah. His chair was too low. It wasn't level with the table, and Quinn wished he was level, so that he wasn't looking down on him, meeting those green eyes with his own blue eyes.

‘You're the first person I've been able to tell this to,' Noah said. Did Quinn imagine the tightness in his voice? The slightly breathless way he uttered those words? ‘Properly tell this to. Without feeling like you'd judge me. Matty rolls his eyes at me.'

He was on his feet, still holding Quinn's hand, but he towered above him now, a shift in the balance. His other hand was on Quinn's knee. Quinn looked up into his handsome face. And it felt right, like they were equal, like this was how it was meant to be.

Noah's hand left his knee, now tracing his jawline. A smile was on his face: one that was kind, one that seemed to be tinged with sadness. Quinn couldn't move anymore. This was all in Noah's power. That familiar feeling of time standing still came back, only this time moving slow, so that every movement, every feeling, seemed ten times longer.

‘If I had stayed, I would have met you sooner,' Noah breathed.

Quinn could see every crease in Noah's plump red lips. Quinn reached out, about to touch them, about to feel more of Noah than he ever thought possible. This was it. This was everything he'd craved since that winter day when Quinn first set his sights on Noah.

The door handle rattled.

Noah wasn't there anymore. Sitting on the bed, like his last words never happened, like he had been a mirage in front of Quinn just a few moments ago.

Matty appeared at the door. He looked between them, his eyes lingering a little too long on Quinn's flushed face.

‘I wondered where you two had got to,' Matty said, though his voice sounded as cold as the snow that now fell outside. ‘I came to say the weather's changing. Quinn, you might want to get back home before it's too late.'

Quinn knew those words held a much different meaning.