11. Noah

The front door slams so hard the bathroom door rattles. I'd hoped he wouldn't intentionally avoid me this morning, but despite being awake at the same ungodly hour, I keep missing him. The way he just ran out of the apartment is a good indicator that it"s not coincidental.

I suppose there really wasn"t much chance of us having a mature, rational, open conversation about what happened. That I'm the one wanting to be the mature, rational person in this fucked up arrangement is concerning, but I"m on the verge of a crisis of conscience. I was convinced I was doing the right thing last night. That it"s what he wanted—what he needed. That I was helping him, but after the post-orgasm bliss wore off and reality set in, I spent the rest of the night second guessing myself.

It"s not like I touched him or was even in the room with him. I knew he was jerking off, but it's not like he had to. He could have told me to fuck off, or just ignored me. But he didn"t.

Once I snuck out of my room and pressed my ear to his door again, I could hear his heavy panting. His moans crawled into my brain and made a home there. They haunted me for the rest of the night, and I spent more time dreaming about what he looked like when those sounds came out of him than I did actually sleeping. He was so much more vocal than when I made him do it in person.

After having him on my mind all night, my subconscious is so aware of him, I shot up out of bed the second I heard him shuffling around. I couldn"t very well run out of my room right away with the obvious morning wood I was sporting, and missed my chance to see how much things have reverted to the way they were before.

I know I"m partially to blame for how things have been between us. Hell, I"m probably mostly to blame. Okay, I'm all to blame. But his pompous, socially awkward, repressed attitude hasn"t helped these past four years. I feel like we'd been making progress the past couple weeks and I've been enjoying his company. I don"t want to jeopardize that because I made a wrong call. I'm too invested… Too curious.

My cock is begging for attention, and I give in to my body"s needs under the hot spray of the shower. It bothers me that Lane can"t enjoy simple pleasure like this. It doesn"t hurt anyone or anything. It"s just a bodily function that happens to feel good.

If God didn"t want us to play with it, why would he make it feel so good? I suppose Lane would say that temptations are put there to prove your devotion, but that seems like bullshit. Don"t give me a fun toy and tell me not to play with it. That"s just cruel.

Lane would be so much happier and more relaxed if he could just accept himself for who he is, and accept his body the way it is. He spends so much time exercising, shaping his body into something that could rival a marble statue. It"s a shame he can"t appreciate it. All those curves of muscle and hard planes. I"ve seen bits and pieces, but I can only imagine that his whole body is a work of art.

An unexpected rush of blood through my veins makes my cock pulse, and I thrust into my hand. The beige wall of the shower is coated in streams of cum. I watch it drip for several seconds while I catch my breath, wondering where the fuck that came from.

The water runs cold before I shake myself out of my confusion and get out to get dressed. There aren"t any missed messages on my phone. I think about texting him, but now I feel like a clingy girlfriend. He probably just went for a run. He"ll be back soon and we can talk it out. And if he doesn"t want to talk it out, we can text it out. I just want to help.

In case he tries to come home and sneak into his room, I bring my laptop into the living room. I mess around on social media for a while, spending a little too long on Lane's accounts. He rarely posts, but when he does, it's usually a random picture with a Bible quote it made him think of.

With everything he's learned to not be true, and everything he's overcome, I find it fascinating that he believes in anything anymore. If it comforted him at all, I think I'd find the strength of his belief beautiful. But it doesn't comfort him. At least from what I've seen, it seems like it does the opposite. He's in agony from a lifetime of repression.

If he'd just accept himself for who he naturally is, he'd be so much better off.

That thought gives me an idea, and I click to the university's social media pages, looking for something specific.

He's going to hate this, but it's something I have to try.

The next week flies by. Our professors haven't gone easy on us for being athletes, and I've spent almost as much time studying as Lane. I've even bumped into him at the library a few times between classes. We sat at the same table, and have been comparing notes on some classes we are both taking.

We barely talk, but fall into an easy routine in the mornings and in the evenings after soccer, we come home and do our yoga. I"ve gotten rather attached to this little ritual of ours, and even Lane has begrudgingly admitted that it's been good for our game. I"m feeling stronger and more balanced, which is helping me to be quicker on my feet. And I think Lane is feeling it too. It could be a placebo effect, but I like to believe our bodies are already reaping the benefits, just like the pros. Considering we both kicked ass at the match tonight, it's easy to believe. I scored two goals on my own, and Coach Carr actually put Lane in the starting lineup, and he played almost the entire match. He's a beast on the field, and I enjoy watching him.

I"ve fallen into bed every night this week completely exhausted, but I lie there staring at my phone. I don"t know what I"m expecting, or what I"m hoping for. No, that"s a lie. I know exactly what I"m hoping for, but admitting it even to myself feels like admitting to something else entirely.

He opened up to me a little that night after we watched Rocky Horror, and I got a glimpse of a different side of Lane. An honest, maybe a little broken, vulnerable side that has become my new hyper-focus. I want to crawl inside that brain of his and figure out what makes him tick. For once, I'm not trying to use it against him. I'm trying to get to know him.

And yeah, I want him to text me again. I've been patient, waiting for him to come to me for the release he needs. But damn if it isn't driving me wild.

I've done a bit more research about the church Lane grew up in, and the compound that he lived in his entire life. I know I should keep my nose out of it and mind my own business, but every time I read something else, the more the pieces come together. Like how they controlled everything the residents did. From what they read to not allowing TV or music.

Is that why he likes The Beatles? They're the only music I ever hear him listen to. Maybe it was the first thing he heard and he got attached? Not that I don't like The Beatles, they're great. But there's a lot of really great music out there.

I think back to how wide-eyed and afraid Lane was of everything for the first year living with us. I don't think I ever appreciated just how much of a transition he was going through.

Lane: Good game today.

I nearly lurch off my bed. Despite staring at my phone thinking about whether he"ll text, I end up startling and tossing my phone up in the air when it actually happens. When it lands on the floor, it clatters loudly enough for him to hear it.

Lane: You alright in there?

Noah: I"m fine. Just dropped my phone.

I stare at my phone, waiting for him to respond until the screen times out, and I chuckle at how pathetic I"m acting. Why am I this invested in whether he"s going to text me? Rolling my eyes at myself, I decide to text him. I"ve been looking for an opening, and this is as good as I"ve gotten.

Noah: What are you doing tomorrow?

Lane: Not sure. Why?

Noah: There"s a campus fair or something at the student union tomorrow. I thought I might go check it out.

Lane: Isn't that a showcase for campus organizations?

Lane: Are you going to join a club?

Noah: I might.

Lane: ??

I huff out a laugh. Am I so obvious?

Lane: Since when are school-sanctioned group activities your thing?

Noah: I"m sorry, are we not both on the same sports team? That we both play for? As a team?

Noah: A team is a group activity.

Lane: It"s different.

Noah: Is it?

He"s not wrong. I hate most organized group activities. I love being social, and playing soccer and being part of a team, but I dropped out of just about every other club our parents ever signed us up for. They were constantly trying to keep me busy to take the edge off my hyperactive tendencies, but nothing outside of soccer could keep my interest for long.

Lane: I'm pretty sure it's all the same tables that were at the freshman orientation. Probably nothing new.

Noah: It's something to do that isn't working out, studying, or being stuck inside. I'm gonna go stir crazy.

Lane: What"s this really about? You trying to scout out the sorority girls to find out which parties are going to have the hottest girls or something?

That"s actually pretty genius and I"m going to pretend I thought of it first.

Noah: Caught me.

Noah: So you"re coming with, right?

I watch the little dots pop up and then disappear, and I know he"s trying to think of an excuse not to come with me.

Noah: Please come with me. Miah bailed and I don"t want to go alone.

It"s an outright lie, I never invited Miah. He would have come with me without question, even though he knows I"m not likely to sign up for any campus organizations. He"s down to hang out anytime, anywhere. I"ve not been the most attentive friend to him lately, but he"s been busy chasing a player from the girl"s team that he met at the party we went to. He"s so distracted by her, I don"t think he"s even noticed my preoccupation with my stepbrother.

Noah: Pretty sure there are campus Bible clubs and stuff.

Lane: ...

Noah: I"m not making fun. I"m serious. There are groups for all kinds of stuff. I"m kind of curious about the yoga club.

Lane: Yeah right.

Noah: Seriously dude, I"m kind of into it. Also, you know those girls are flexible...

Lane:??

I know he"s in without even confirming it. Now all I have to do is act cool and pretend I don"t already have the map of table placements memorized.

It"s busier than I thought it would be. I definitely underestimated how many people actually enjoy organized activities. Lane looks overwhelmed right off the bat, and I know my window of opportunity is going to be small.

Grabbing his arm, I pull him towards the section I want us to be in. He"s trying to look at the little map a volunteer handed us on our way in.

"Where are we going first?" he asks me, looking from the map to our surroundings to orient himself.

"I dunno," I say, feigning my usual devil-may-care attitude. "I"m just following the short skirts and bright colors."

It works to my advantage that there are short skirts in every direction. Lane gives me an amused eye roll, but follows close behind until there"s a table that grabs his interest. He stops, looking from his list to the table, to the table next to it, with a confused expression on his face. The table I"m assuming he wants to look at is the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, but the table next to it gets my hopes up. It"s another student athlete association, but this one is specifically for LGBTQIA+ student athletes. Bingo.

"Ooh, looky. Bright colors and a short skirt," I say, rubbing my hands together as I make a beeline for the Blackbird Pride table.

"I don"t think she"s interested," Lane snarks behind me, but I ignore him and thank my luck that my plan is working out easier than I hoped.

Lane stays to the far end of the Christian Athletes table, chatting with a guy that looks like he"d get along with swimmingly—if the polo with the neck buttoned and khaki pants are anything to go off of. I watch him from the corner of my eye, noticing how closely he watches me while I look through the pamphlets and stuff laid out on the table in front of me. I pick up a rainbow-colored Blackbird Pride bumper sticker and give Lane a thumbs up, taking some cash out of my pocket.

It doesn"t take two seconds before he"s hissing in my ear. "What are you doing?"

"It"s only a dollar donation for this cool bumper sticker," I say, as if I didn't know that it would bother him.

"You can"t put that on our car," he says firmly, keeping his voice low. He"s too polite to want to offend anyone, despite his glaringly obvious internalized homophobia.

"And why not?"

"Because you aren"t gay. And neither am I."

"You don"t have to be gay to be an ally," I tell him, raising my voice enough to be heard. "Isn"t that right?" I ask the girl in the short, swishy white skirt and bright pink Harrison University Volleyball t-shirt.

"Katy." She smiles brightly at me, and either I"m way off my game, or there"s interest there. "That"s right, of course. Are you interested in joining the Blackbird Pride Association for student athletes? I"m assuming you"re both athletes," she says, appraising both of us.

"Are we that obvious?"

"You"re wearing a team shirt, jackass," Lane grumbles next to me.

He keeps looking back and forth from me to the Christian Athletes table. His face is red, and he keeps trying to edge away from me, sure I"m about to embarrass him. Which is a fair assessment.

I ignore him and keep talking to the pretty volleyball player that I have no interest in, but she"s providing the perfect opportunity to ask questions in front of Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass here.

"I"m definitely curious," I say pointedly. Lane groans, and I can barely disguise my smirk at his obvious discomfort. "How many athletes are part of this?"

"There could be more," the girl admits. "You're on the soccer team, right?" She looks around, her perky brunette ponytail swishing as she tries to see over all the heads in the crowd. "There he is—Danny!"

A sandy brown head turns, a familiar face breaking into a wide grin when he sees us. Well, not us. Lane.

"Lane!" Danny Hastings, a fellow freshman recruit and Lane"s buddy from tryouts, excuses himself from the conversation he was in and jogs over. He"s wearing a very fitted white t-shirt with an iridescent rainbow outline of a soccer ball and red athletic shorts. He"s not as muscular as Lane, but his tight shirt shows off his cut abs, squeezing around his biceps and narrow waist. Stomach twisting, I look from him to Lane, whose eyes are wide with surprise.

"Hey, Danny," Lane says awkwardly, reaching out a hand to shake.

"Good to see you, man!" He pulls Lane in for a one-armed bro hug that lingers a little too long. Lane looks uncomfortable. "Are you joining Blackbird Pride?" Danny"s eyes shine a little too bright, a little too hopeful.

I've had my eye on this guy since tryouts. He's way too friendly.

"Uh—"

"We"re just browsing," I answer for Lane, rescuing him from the moment of awkward tension.

This is dumb.I wanted to bring Lane here, show him how many campus Pride groups there were, and talk to a few fellow athletes just to show that college is a pretty open-minded place to figure your stuff out. Danny being here should be a good thing; he"s one of the few people Lane really talks to on the team. But something about him rubs me the wrong way. The more he stares at Lane the more my blood pressure rises.

I clear my throat loudly and step between them to pick up a pile of random pamphlets and fliers I"d been pretending to be interested in. "Well, thanks for all the information and the great bumper sticker, Katy."

"No problem," she says kindly. "Um, here." She writes something down on the corner of a pamphlet I"m holding. "Call me if you have any questions, or decide you want to sign up."

"I"ll do that," I tell her, winking before I turn back to Lane. "Do you already have Danny"s number, or did you want to ask for it?" I ask, feigning innocence.

Lane turns an even deeper shade of red.

"No?"

"What is your problem?" Lane mutters under his breath.

I shrug, as if I don"t know what he"s annoyed about. "Do you not think Junior Pastor Ken Doll would approve?"

"Stop it, Noah."

"Are the crocs part of the uniform? You"ve already got the khakis?—"

"Damn it, Noah. Just stop. What is wrong with you?"

Holding my hands up in front of me in mock surrender, I take a step back, a smirk curling up one end of my lips. I shouldn"t enjoy riling him up so much, and I shouldn"t get comfort out of upsetting him, but it"s like a default setting. I"ve probably accomplished the exact opposite of what I came here to do today, but having Danny here has me flustered. I don"t have it in me to evaluate my reasons for disliking Danny, but I have to admit that as much as I hate watching Lane stomp away from me again, I get a little satisfaction knowing he"s stomping away from the Hastings boy, too.

I start to follow Lane, but Miah and a few of the guys from our team are making their way down the aisle in the opposite direction.

"Noah! My man! You should have told me you were coming to this thing?—"

He cuts himself off when he sees the way I cut my eyes over to Lane. After aiming a pointed glare at me, he continues his war path out of the Student Union, and I don"t bother trying to follow.