Chapter Ten

“Why is it that whenever you invite me somewhere, the place always ends up looking like we’re gonna get shanked?” Noah asks, squinting skeptically at the rundown venue looming ahead of them. The exterior feels like a scene straight out of a crime drama, and he can’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.

“‘Cause you’ve never stepped outside your comfort zone once in your life,” Ellery quips, his expression teasingly smug, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

“Hey!” Noah protests, but Ellery just smirks wider, giving him a playful jab in the ribs. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge a place by its exterior? How ‘bout that?” Ellery adds, his tone light but challenging as his eyes gleam with amusement. He always enjoys pushing Noah’s buttons.

Noah pulls a face, squaring his shoulders as he glances back at the bar. The building looks like it’s survived a hurricane or two, or maybe it just gave up caring about appearances altogether. Their walk had been long—several blocks after finding a distant parking spot—and now that they’re here, Noah wonders if it was even worth the effort. The bar, tucked between an abandoned-looking hair salon and a pastel bakery that seems out of place in this neighborhood, looks neglected at best. Its red brick walls are scrawled over with graffiti and an enormous, mostly illegible mural, probably added to distract from the aging structure. The black sign hanging above the entrance reads Greg’s Axehouse , but it’s unlit and missing a few letters. If not for the small group of smokers loitering out front, the place might have passed for an abandoned warehouse.

“Now we—shit,” Ellery says abruptly, his voice hitching in sudden panic. His wide-eyed gaze snaps to Noah, worry flitting across his face like he’s forgotten something crucial. “I forgot to ask if you brought your ID? It’s a 21-and-over show. They’re gonna card us.”

Noah exhales a breath of relief. “Yeah. I remembered.” He bats his baggy black shirt out of the way, digging into his jeans’ pocket before pulling out his cardholder with a flourish. “Right here.”

“Thank goodness.” Ellery sighs in exaggerated relief, muttering to himself as he fishes his own wallet from his back pocket. He pulls out two printed, jagged-edged tickets and his ID, still tucked neatly in the plastic sleeve. Noah watches with casual interest, trying to catch a glimpse of Ellery’s license photo. It’s a morbid curiosity—there’s no way Ellery can be as perfect as usual in that; nobody looks good in their license photo. “You ready to head in?” Ellery asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Sure,” Noah says with a shrug, glancing at Ellery’s black leather jacket. He eyes it skeptically. “Should we have left your jacket in the car?”

Ellery scoffs, adjusting the collar with a smirk. “No way! This is for the show.”

“You’re gonna be warm,” Noah warns, quirking an eyebrow.

“Then I’ll tie it around my waist.”

“Isn’t that, like, a fashion ‘don’t’?” Noah raises a questioning brow.

“For straight people, sure,” Ellery quips without missing a beat, flashing a mischievous grin.

“Right. Of course.” Noah shakes his head, half exasperated, half amused, as he follows Ellery toward the entrance. The fog of cigarette smoke hanging in the air thickens as they approach, and Noah tries not to cough or wrinkle his nose in distaste. It’s not like he has any room to judge—he’s smoked his fair share of cigarettes—but it makes him all the more aware of the faint odor of nicotine that still lingers on him. He grimaces at the thought of Ellery kissing his smoker’s mouth. It’s enough to make him reconsider quitting altogether.

As promised, the bouncer at the door holds out her hand expectantly. Her no-nonsense demeanor makes Noah fumble a little as he hands over his ID. After a thorough examination of their cards, she marks their tickets with a red felt pen and lets them in with a firm, “No re-entry.”

Stepping inside, Noah is immediately greeted by harsh yellow light flooding the foyer, casting long shadows across the peeling posters taped to the walls. The room smells faintly of spilled beer and dust, and the buzz of the bar hits them like a wave. They have two options: they can either follow the hallway to the left, which leads to a beaten wood counter lined with patrons nursing their drinks as a lone bartender keeps up smoothly, or head down the staircase to their right, where a soft glow emanates from what looks like a basement. There's a low hum rising from down there, promising another layer of nightlife—something more intimate, with the tang of vapor thick in the air.

“Wonder what’s down there,” Noah mutters, glancing toward the staircase. Ellery follows his gaze and points to a sign posted above the well.

“That’s where they throw axes.”

Noah stops in his tracks, eyes wide with disbelief, before instinctively pulling Ellery out of the path of incoming patrons. They press against the wall together, bodies closer than necessary. Noah can feel the heat of Ellery’s body through his shirt, and despite the sudden warmth, a shiver runs down his spine. He pushes the thought aside for later, focusing on the absurdity of what Ellery just said. “What do you mean, ‘throw axes’? Like…actual axes?”

Ellery grins up at him, that gem of a smile Noah’s getting too familiar with. “This is Greg’s Axehouse. They’ve got recreational axe-throwing down there. You know, like hatchets you rent and throw at targets. Real testosterone stuff,” he explains, flashing a wink.

Noah does a double take. “Wait—I wanna throw axes!” He grabs Ellery’s bicep and gives it a playful squeeze, making Ellery recoil into a squirming fit of laughter. Noah eats it up, pressing the advantage, “Can we go throw axes?!”

Ellery, giggling and trying to escape Noah’s grip, protests, “I’ll bring you back sometime! Just—don’t tickle me, good gracious! And remember, we’re not putting off homework night again.”

Reluctantly, Noah lets go, satisfied with Ellery’s promise. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, adopting a smug smirk, pretending to be all calm and collected when really he’s thrilled at having gotten Ellery to squirm. “Lead the way, then,” he says, giving Ellery his best ‘you’re so easy’ look.

As they move toward the bar, Noah realizes just how small the venue is. If there’s no limit on tickets sold tonight, Greg’s might just be in for a fire code violation. The showroom is tiny—cozy even. The stage is level with the floor, no more than twenty feet from the bar itself, and already outfitted with bedraggled stools and speakers. A muffled song plays through the sound system as the stage waits for its occupants. Despite its rough edges, the place radiates a kind of charm—like a hole-in-the-wall with history and stories tucked into every crack of the wooden floor.

Ellery’s eyes widen as they step closer. “Oh my god,” he breathes, stilled by the proximity of the stage. His hand trembles a bit at his side, and Noah sees him glance at the drums, eyes glittering with excitement. “We’re so close. This is gonna be an intimate show.” He looks up at Noah, his grin nothing short of ecstatic, chest rising and falling in short, eager breaths. “This is gonna be awesome.”

Noah can’t help but smile at Ellery’s enthusiasm. He wants to make a joke to keep things light, but part of him is just as excited. “Even if we stand in the very back?” he asks, though it’s only half a joke. Noah knows that if he stands anywhere but at the edge of the room, he’ll have to deal with people grumbling about how his height blocks their view. The last thing he wants is to spend the whole night feeling like a walking inconvenience.

“Noah.” Ellery’s voice is soft, drawing Noah’s attention down to him. There’s no teasing in Ellery’s gaze this time, only sincerity. “We could dance to their music on the roof of this place, and I’d still just be happy you came with me.”

For a moment, Noah’s breath catches in his throat. A while ago, that kind of sentiment would’ve been way too much—would’ve made him clam up or laugh it off awkwardly, even with a couple of drinks in him. But now? Now, as he watches Ellery’s eyes sparkle with genuine affection, Noah finds himself drinking in the warmth of it. He feels a strange pang in his chest, something deep and fond, something that catches him off guard.

Noah grins down at him, warmth bubbling up in his chest. “Goober,” he mutters affectionately.

Ellery’s grin only brightens, somehow more dazzling, and that’s when Noah feels it—a sudden, pleasant burn in his chest. He swallows hard.

“Gosh, your eyebrow bar looks so good with that outfit. I’m glad Nathan’s out of town and you could raid his closet. We’ve gotta get you a shirt like that—it’s perfect. And my necklace on you? Man.” Ellery’s voice is laced with admiration, eyes lingering a bit too long on Noah, drinking him in.

Noah feels the warmth of Ellery’s gaze creeping under his skin, a dangerous sensation. He cuts in quickly, voice gruff but soft. “Wanna grab a drink?” It’s an offer more meant to distract himself than anything, a lifeline to prevent himself from closing the distance between them and kissing the fondness right off Ellery’s face. That level of adoration… it’s dangerous. Too much.

Ellery smiles, catching Noah’s subtle shift. “Noah, I drove.”

“I’ll drive us back if you wanna grab somethin’,” Noah offers, nodding toward a woman in black skinny jeans who stumbles by, heading for the stage, her drink sloshing dangerously in her hand. He watches her for a second before throwing a thumb in her direction. “Like that. Tonight’s all for you, man. You deserve to cut loose if you want.”

Ellery clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels, his shadow swaying lazily against the wall. “You tryna get me drunk, Schneider? Just because you have proof I’m a slutty drunk…?”

Noah freezes mid-thought, blinking down at Ellery. “No! I—wait… slutty? I thought you were into me.” His tone is somewhere between teasing and confused.

Ellery flashes a grin, eyes glinting with mischief. “I was. Still am. I’m joking, Noah.” He punctuates his words with a playful jab to Noah’s chest, and Noah swears softly, rolling his eyes as victorious chuckles escape Ellery’s lips.

“I don’t want anything to drink,” Ellery says, his laughter fading into sincerity. “I wanna remember tonight as clearly as possible.”

“Yeah,” Noah replies, bobbing his head in agreement, his voice softening. “Okay.”

Then I want to make this a night worth remembering.

The crowd thickens as more people flock to the stage, drinks in hand, eager for the show to start. Noah watches the mass of bodies form between them and the stage, a throng of eager fans buzzing with anticipation. He’s about to crack a joke about people getting prematurely excited when the lights dim marginally, and suddenly, the crowd erupts into screams—far louder than he thought possible for such a small venue.

Instinctively, Noah glances over his shoulder, making sure he’s not blocking anyone’s view. Even the bartender has stopped pouring drinks, eyes locked on the stage. When he turns back around, he sees Ellery, breathless, his fingers wrung tightly at his waist, eyes glued to the stage as the screams wash over them.

Noah leans down slightly, raising his voice above the chaos. “Just who are we here to see, anyway?”

Before Ellery can answer, a low recorded intro rumbles through the venue, shaking the walls. The fans’ shrieks triple in intensity, drowning out the music. A steady drumbeat kicks in, followed by a soft riff, and Noah watches as three men calmly walk onto the stage, taking their places behind their instruments—guitar, bass, drums. They’re followed by a woman with long, messy brown hair and a sleeve tattoo, one arm inked entirely black. She grabs her guitar with practiced ease and steps up to the mic, leaning in with a casual confidence.

“Hello, Raleigh,” she greets the crowd, her voice warm and low, and the room immediately loses its mind.

Noah can hardly believe the surge of energy that pulses through the venue. The band launches into their first song, the music crashing through the speakers with raw, unrelenting power. It’s an intense sound, but not chaotic—the song builds steadily, hopeful chords threading through a driving beat, creating a bizarre yet captivating contrast with the crowd’s dark, gritty aesthetic. The fans don’t just listen; they live the music. They pulse with it, move with it, as if the sound is a current they’re all plugged into, charging them up.

Noah trembles, the pulse of the music coursing through him, his body unconsciously closing the distance to Ellery’s back. His gaze drifts over Ellery’s crown, entranced by the way the crowd moves as one—a sea of chaos and raw energy. People are jumping, fists punching the air in wild abandon, clapping and bumping into each other, as the singer’s voice cuts through the noise, scathing and full of power, even without the microphone.

Noah watches in awe, feeling the pull of the atmosphere. The crowd, the music, the electricity in the air—it all begins to make sense. By the second song, he’s caught in it, swept up by the relentless energy. He gets it now.

“Hey!!” Ellery’s voice cuts through the din, pulling Noah’s attention down to his heart-shaped face, flushed and glistening with sweat. His hair is slicked back from his forehead, damp from the heat of the crowd and his leather jacket. His eyes, sparkling ice blue in the strobe lights, search Noah’s face with an intensity that makes Noah’s breath hitch.

Ellery is radiant. Alive. His lips move in sync with the song, mouthing the words while his body bobs in place, carefree and euphoric. He looks like he’s on the verge of laughter, the kind of laughter that bubbles up from pure, unfiltered joy. He’s glowing, so utterly in the moment that it’s contagious. Look at me. I’m happy.

The music shifts and morphs as the show progresses, driving the crowd into a frenzy. Jumping turns to playful shoves, then devolves into an all-out collision of bodies as people throw themselves against one another in reckless celebration. Ellery, caught in the storm of limbs and chaos, is tossed around like a ship in high seas. Even then, he smiles, eyes bright despite the rough jostling.

But all Noah can see is the danger. His mind floods with images—Ellery hitting the floor, trampled underfoot, lost in a sea of oblivious bodies. The thought sends a shiver down Noah’s spine, cold and sharp. He can’t risk that. He’s not about to let Ellery get hurt tonight, not when the chaos is threatening to spiral out of control.

“Hey,” Noah barks, his voice more urgent than intended. He reaches out, grabbing Ellery’s wrist and pulling him close, bringing them chest-to-chest. “Stay with me?”

For a brief moment, the world seems to still. The music rages on, the crowd surges around them, but Ellery’s gaze is fixed on Noah, wide and brimming with something… unreadable. He gapes up at Noah, eyes searching his face, like he’s seeing something new for the first time.

Then, with startling calmness, Ellery speaks, his words somehow cutting through the chaos like they were meant for Noah alone. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, Noah.”

Noah freezes, blindsided. His skin prickles with heat, his heart hammering in his chest. Before he can respond, before he can even think, Ellery continues, his voice unwavering, “I don’t think you’re told it enough, or that you think it about yourself. But it’s true. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Noah’s head spins, his thoughts scattering as Ellery reaches up, grabbing his shoulders. He bounces up on his toes and plants a soft kiss on Noah’s cheek, his lips warm and quick, like a spark of life. “Thanks for being with me,” Ellery murmurs, his voice gentle, alive with gratitude.

Noah’s throat tightens, words stuck behind a lump that refuses to let them out. He wants to say something, anything , to let Ellery know just how much this means to him. But the right words don’t come. Instead, he makes a silent promise to say everything later, when they’re alone, when it’s quiet enough for Ellery to hear him clearly.

For now, Noah does the only thing he can. He grabs Ellery by the waist and gently spins him back toward the stage, wrapping his arms protectively around his shoulders. He holds Ellery close, shielding him from the thrashing bodies, grounding him in their shared space. Ellery leans back into him, his head resting on Noah’s chest, and for a moment, the chaos around them fades into the background.

The song shifts, unexpectedly slow for a concert like this. The crowd’s frenzy ebbs as the music softens, bodies swaying instead of colliding. Ellery hums softly, rocking back and forth with Noah, his hands gently clasping Noah’s arms around him.

Noah breathes in deeply, his face buried in the dampness of Ellery’s hair. The scent of sweat and leather fills his senses, grounding him in this moment. Ellery fits perfectly against him, like he was made to be held in exactly this way, by Noah and no one else. It’s almost overwhelming, the weight of it, the intimacy of their connection.

Noah presses his lips to Ellery’s hair, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the moment wash over him. He lets himself feel —really feel—how lucky he is. That from a chance meeting at a party, from a series of seemingly random events, he’s here now, with Ellery. This is his reality. He gets to hold the person who, for so long, had been his fixation, his frustration, his lamentation, and now—his adoration.

The music swells gently, and for Noah, the world narrows down to this: the rhythm of Ellery’s heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he fits perfectly against Noah’s body. Everything else fades away, and all that remains is the quiet certainty that this is where he’s meant to be.

And if the stars ever do align as they do in stories, making everything in the world feel right for just one moment—this is that moment.

Had there ever been a time when Ellery hadn’t perfumed every breath Noah took? When every inhale wasn’t filled with the scent of him, the feel of him, the presence of him so close it blurred the line between where Ellery ended and where Noah began?

If you could even call it breathing.

Noah’s chest hitches. His breath is shallow, caught somewhere between an exhale and the next desperate inhale, as if his lungs are learning how to function again after being dormant for so long. The world is a blur of sound and light around them, the pulse of the music pushing them forward, but all of it fades into the background with Ellery pressed against him, grounding him.

Ellery’s grasp tightens, his hand clasped around Noah’s forearm. There’s a tenderness in the touch that feels ancient, familiar, like it’s always been there. His thumb strokes absentmindedly over the fine hairs on Noah’s arm, a small, unthinking gesture, but it sends ripples of warmth through Noah’s body. That gentle trawl, that simple touch—God, yes, please —it’s like Ellery knows exactly how to communicate without words. Like his body knows what Noah needs before Noah himself does.

Then, as if guided by some unseen force, Ellery’s hand leaves Noah’s arm and drifts upward, blindly searching until it finds Noah’s cheek. His fingers are cool against the heat of Noah’s skin, cradling his face in the most delicate of ways. It’s brief—just long enough for Noah to close his eyes, to press his lips into Ellery’s palm, soft and reverent, as though he’s kissing a promise.

They are lost at the edge of a crowd, unseen by the thrashing bodies around them, yet they are in the center of everything that matters. In this bubble of intimacy, Noah feels exposed, bare, as if every layer he’s used to protect himself has been stripped away, leaving only this raw, vulnerable version of himself that Ellery is cradling in his hand.

How long could he have had this? Not just the touch, not just the comfort of having someone to hold, but this —this feeling that goes deeper than the physical, something that wraps around his soul and pulls tight, filling every empty space he didn’t even know existed. It’s more than having a boyfriend; it’s more than love. It’s something that roots itself so deep it becomes part of him, something that makes everything before this moment seem like a pale imitation of living.

The cut is deep. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying—how much of himself he had been holding back, smothering, afraid to truly breathe. But now, as he stands there, arms around Ellery, it feels like a wound being drained of infection, slow and steady, a release that’s as painful as it is necessary. The air, once stifled, now courses through him with a new kind of vitality, filling his lungs in a way that feels real, like he’s breathing for the first time in ages.

It’s funny, Noah thinks, how in all his efforts to suppress the part of him that ached for something more, he never realized he was suffocating himself. He hadn’t once considered that maybe, in trying to smother that piece of him—the part that longed to be touched, to be loved, to feel —he was garroting his own heart.

But now, with Ellery here, with the warmth of his body against Noah’s, it’s as if the cord has been cut. The air is free again, and with it comes a rush of life. Every second reawakens something that had long been dormant inside him. His senses are alive, every beat of his heart echoing the rhythm of Ellery’s not a foot away. His pulse thrums, in tune with the music that carries them both, lifting them on its back, effortless and easy.

Noah closes his eyes, letting himself be carried by the moment. He lets himself feel —not just the touch of Ellery’s hand or the press of his body, but the deep, aching connection between them. It’s the kind of feeling that doesn’t need to be named because it’s too big for words. It’s in the way Ellery’s heartbeat matches his own, the way their breaths sync up, the way the world melts away until all that’s left is this— them .

And in this moment, Noah knows that this is the kind of air he was meant to breathe all along.

“Ugh.”

Noah perks up, yanked out of his reverie as something prickles at the edge of his awareness. His head snaps to the side, eyes sharp and scowling, scanning for the source. Sure enough, there’s a guy, swaying on his feet, clearly drunk. The alcohol has made his movements sluggish and his gaze unfocused, but his squinting isn’t aimless—it’s fixed on Noah and Ellery, on the space between them, on their closeness.

“What was that?” Noah’s voice cuts through the noise, eyebrows flying up in disbelief.

The man, barely able to keep his balance, mumbles to himself. “S’what I get for payin’ to get in, not knowin’ what kinda show this was gon’ be.” He brings his beer to his lips, eyes narrowing at the sight of Noah and Ellery’s bodies pressed together.

Noah’s patience evaporates in an instant, his voice colder than he means it to be. “Then leave.”

The words are out before he can stop them, and they hang in the air, sharp and final. Where had his patience gone? He didn’t come here for this—to deal with some drunk asshole ruining Ellery’s night.

“Noah,” Ellery mumbles softly, his hand gently patting Noah’s arm in an attempt to calm him down. “Ignore him. Just calm down.”

Noah grits his teeth, feeling the tension in his jaw. He forces himself to shift his focus back to the stage, to the music, to Ellery. This is Ellery’s night , he reminds himself. He came here for the show. I’m not going to ruin it.

But then the drunk slurs out another word, vile and soaked in hatred. “Faggots.”

Noah’s body tenses, fists clenching at his sides, but it’s the next sentence that sends him over the edge.

“With a butch like that up there tryna sing, though,” the man continues, glaring at the stage, “guess I shouldn’t be s’prised.”

Before Noah even realizes it, he’s unwrapped himself from around Ellery, stepping forward with a low growl. “Okay then.”

Ellery doesn’t try to stop him this time. Maybe he knows it’s pointless, or maybe even he’s had enough. Either way, he steps aside, watching as Noah strides up to the drunk with purpose.

Noah’s fist connects with the guy’s face before anyone can react, a solid, sickening pop reverberating through the air as knuckles meet bone. The drunk stumbles back, crumpling to the ground like a rag doll, his body collapsing under the weight of the alcohol. His hands fly to his nose, blood already streaming from it, his eyes wild with confusion, pain, and rage.

Someone in the crowd screams, the noise piercing through the chaos of the concert like a siren, but Noah barely registers it. He’s too far gone, his vision red as he plants his boot squarely on the guy’s chest, pinning him to the ground. The man sputters and gags, but Noah leans down, his voice a dangerous snarl.

“Fuck you.”

The man thrashes beneath him, panic setting in. “Ger’offa me!”

Noah’s eyes blaze as he spits his next words, venom dripping from every syllable. “Eat shit and die in a gutter—maybe you can find your soul down there one last time before you burn in hell.”

“Hey—hey!”

A hand clamps down on Noah’s arm, yanking him backward. For a split second, Noah thinks it’s Ellery, and he almost lets himself be pulled away willingly, ready to listen to reason. But when he turns, he’s met with the stern, unyielding gaze of the bouncer. Her grip is strong, and the weight of her authority is unmistakable. She doesn’t even need to raise her voice as she jerks her chin toward the exit. “Out.”

Ellery steps forward, hands raised in surrender. “But he—this guy was—"

“No,” Noah interrupts, his voice tight, giving Ellery a long, unsteady look. His gaze softens for just a moment, and then he nods, the weight of the situation settling in. “I’ll go. I’ll, uh… I’ll wait outside, Ellery. Enjoy the rest of the show.”

Ellery’s mouth opens, ready to protest, but no words come out. Instead, he watches helplessly as Noah turns and walks away. It’s not until Noah reaches the doors that he glances back over his shoulder, just to make sure. The drunk—the one who spat hatred and ruined their night—he’s on the floor, groaning, crawling away from Ellery, nursing his shattered pride.

But maybe he isn’t the one who ruined Ellery’s evening.

Noah pushes through the door and steps into the night, the cool air hitting him like a splash of water. Outside, it’s quiet, no smokers lingering around. The air feels still and strange in contrast to the chaos inside. He flexes his fingers, shaking them free of the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it doesn’t help. His hands are trembling, his chest tight. He can’t stop pacing, back and forth across the sidewalk, his mind racing.

Everything’s okay. It’s fine. It’ll blow over.

But then his fists clench again, and his anger resurfaces, hot and volatile.

Fuck that guy!

He lets out a sharp breath through his nose, his frustration bubbling over as the reality of the situation sinks in. God dammit! The night had been perfect. Absolutely perfect. They were there, together, the music, the energy—it had all been for Ellery. For once, things had felt right, like they were floating in this little bubble of joy and connection. And now Noah’s stuck outside, in the dark, sitting in metaphorical time-out like a petulant child because of some prick who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

He clenches his jaw and spits, “Shit,” before crouching down on the curb, bringing his knees to his chin. His heart is still pounding, but it’s not from the fight anymore. It’s from the anger and frustration gnawing at him. Behind him, the steady thrum of music from Greg’s pulses through the walls, the sound faint but persistent. The set continues uninterrupted, the crowd still inside, oblivious to the mess that just unfolded outside their little world.

Noah sighs, head resting against his knees as he stares out at the empty street. He wonders if the lead singer noticed, if she’s mad at him for punching someone in the middle of her show. He hopes not. Surely it’s not the first time someone’s been injured at one of their gigs, especially with crowds as wild as the one inside tonight.

But why does it matter? Noah thinks, though he knows why it does. He didn’t want this night to end like this. Not for Ellery. Not for them.

As he sits there, brooding, the front door to Greg’s swings open with a creak, and for a moment, the full blast of the music spills out into the night air, loud and raw. It’s a reminder of what he’s missing inside—Ellery, the music, the energy, all of it.

Noah doesn’t look up.

“Noah.”

Footfalls lead Ellery’s gray tennis shoes to stop by Noah’s legs, and he eyes them warily.

“What are you doing? Now you won’t be able to go back inside, man.”

“Noah. Get up?” Ellery’s voice is entirely too soft, and Noah winces into his knees. But he stands slowly, turning just so to look down into what he knows are going to be injured pools of ice.

But Ellery doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look… anything. His face is blank—the only thing telling are his wide pupils, and the way his throat bobs before he collects Noah’s face in his hands and pulls him down into a deep kiss.

Noah startles, only reminded to participate and cherish it once Ellery runs his stud over Noah’s tongue. That’s the only nudge Noah needs to wrap his arms over Ellery’s shoulders again, bearing down on him and shivering into the wet warmth. Nipping, sucking, licking into each other.

Ellery always tastes sweet, even though Noah knows that’s not possible.

Noah’s hand roams, finds its way to Ellery’s nape and cradles, adjusting their mouths, deeper, and the heat where their skin meets is enough to sing of both of their blushes.

When they break, Noah presses his forehead to Ellery's, enthralled and in a world of only them, there on the sidewalk of city night. He shakes his head briskly. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

“Noah,” Ellery says again—God, Noah’ll never get tired of hearing his name on Ellery’s tongue. He licks his swollen lips. “Take me to your dorm.”

Noah hesitates, stilling the rhythm of their still-swaying bodies for a split second. Had they really been that lost in one another and not noticed?

“Yeah?”

“You said Nathan’s out of town. Right?”

The implication rips through Noah’s core, landing hot in the pit of his stomach and burning down from there. Easily. Freely. “Yeah. He is.”

“Take me. Please?”

Noah’s shoulders heave with one shaking breath. He dips to give Ellery a peck on the lips, fishing into Ellery’s pocket for his keys—brushing against a length of hardness that’s definitely not clothing, judging by the way Ellery huffs a breathy whimper and shivers into Noah’s chest, fists balled into his shirt for dear life. Noah bites down a moan, fingers scraping for the keys and pulling them swiftly from Ellery’s pocket.

“C’mon, then,” he rumbles, hand finding Ellery’s and pulling him down the sidewalk.