Chapter Two

Even in the short time that he’s been at the party, Noah has somehow managed to forget that the apartment they’re in is perched on the top floor of the building. As he and Ellery step outside onto the back patio, Noah takes in the expansive wooden porch that is strewn with leaves from the massive trees towering above. In the daylight, the trees would provide a welcome shade, but at night, they simply add a touch of rustic charm to the view. Looking out over the block in this historic part of town, Noah feels a wave of homegrown appreciation. The view isn’t particularly breathtaking—just old brick buildings and crumbling roads—but it’s become familiar and comforting to him, a home away from home.

Ignoring the wicker furniture scattered around the middle of the patio, Noah makes his way to the end of the porch and leans heavily on the wooden railing, which is less stable than it should be. Ellery follows quietly, his hands tucked in his pockets as he moves. When he reaches Noah’s side, he watches patiently as Noah fishes out a cigarette and offers the open pack to him.

“I’m not gonna smoke a whole one,” Ellery admits with a casual kick of his foot that sends a leaf fluttering down four stories to the street below. “I don’t wanna waste yours.”

“I rarely use these. It’s not a waste,” Noah replies, trying to brush off the comment with a nonchalant shrug.

“Still,” Ellery says with a faint smile.

“Fine,” Noah relents, tucking the pack back into his pocket and lighting his cigarette with a neon orange plastic lighter. He takes a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and warm him from within before exhaling into the cool night air.

The evening is surprisingly pleasant. The dim yellow street lamps below cast a warm glow that gently highlights Ellery’s features, creating an almost painterly effect. Noah finds himself captivated by the scene, questioning whether this moment feels as surreal as it seems. Is Ellery really as striking as he appears, or is this all part of the inebriation?

Noah’s thoughts swirl, but he tries to focus on their earlier conversation. “Soccer,” he blurts out, running his tongue over his teeth and nodding as if this is the most logical thing to say.

Ellery raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “What about it?”

“Looks exhausting,” Noah says, trying to keep the conversation grounded. “Takes a lot of endurance to run around a field for hours on end.”

Ellery nods in agreement. “Yeah, I guess. It did put me in great shape.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Noah flicks the ash from his cigarette over the side of the porch and motions to Ellery’s legs. “I bet you’ve got some runner’s calves under there.”

Ellery seems to take the comment seriously. He kneels and rolls up the cuffs of his pants, and Noah’s mind goes blank. Had he really just asked to see them? It’s too late to back out now. Ellery stands and turns, revealing his well-muscled legs, which are defined and fit, covered in a light dusting of hair that tapers off near his ankles. “You be the judge.”

Noah suddenly finds himself questioning his own actions. Where had he set down his drink? Why had he let himself get so caught up in this? He takes another drag from his cigarette, trying to avoid the urge to insult Ellery outright. What kind of reflexive reaction is it to insult someone simply because they’ve made him uncomfortable? Maybe he’s the one with the issue.

“Yeah,” Noah admits, offering a hesitant smile. “You’ve got nice legs.”

Ellery’s lips curl into a tickled smile that makes Noah’s heart flutter. “Thanks,” Ellery says, covering up again.

The moment of tension seems to ease, and Noah feels more comfortable with this level of honesty. “Hard not to be jealous,” he says, though he’s unsure if it’s jealousy or just admiration. Is it really possible for straight men to appreciate another man’s well-defined calves? It must be the alcohol messing with his judgment.

Clearing his throat, Noah flicks the ashes from his cigarette once more and offers it to Ellery. “Wanna share this with me?”

Ellery’s smile widens as he takes the cigarette and murmurs a thanks. The way Ellery smokes is fluid and oddly mesmerizing, like an old movie star with a lifetime of practice. He holds the cigarette with a practiced grace and inhales with a French inhale that adds a touch of allure to the moment. Noah finds himself captivated by this unexpected display of elegance.

What the hell is happening? Ellery looks so good, and Noah can’t help but feel a mix of attraction and confusion. He tells himself it’s just the combination of Ellery’s striking features and his disciplined physique that’s making him feel this way. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“You’ve got nice arms,” Ellery says, breaking through Noah’s mental haze and making him flush with a sudden, uncontrollable blush.

Shit, Noah thinks. Why are we alone out here? Whose idea was this?

“Yeah?” Noah manages to ask, his voice betraying his nervousness.

“I think so,” Ellery replies, still holding the cigarette. “Even without the jersey, I’d be able to tell that you play. You’re very toned.”

Noah stretches out an arm between them and inspects it critically. He’s proud of his physique and the work he’s put into it, but he’s never considered how others might view it. He’s usually only concerned with how women might see him. “Huh,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“Look at your biceps,” Ellery comments quietly, taking another drag.

“Welcome to the gun show,” Noah quips, flashing a grin and flexing his muscles. Ellery laughs, the sound mingling with the smoke, and Noah feels a surge of pride.

“You’re so modest,” Ellery says dryly with a playful look, lifting his free hand to squeeze Noah’s muscle. The touch is surprisingly intimate, and Noah’s chest swells with both pride and anticipation as he awaits Ellery’s judgment.

Ellery’s touch is thrilling, and Noah can’t help but revel in the sensation, even as he tries to sort out his own feelings.

“Oh, fuck,” Ellery breathes, and the soft expletive wrenches Noah’s brain to a painful halt.

That had sounded… nice. Really nice.

Immediately, Noah has the thought that he wouldn’t mind hearing more things from Ellery said in that exact timbre. Jesus, he’s drunk. He shouldn’t have any more. He should just stumble his way back to his dorm room and sleep this whole thing off. None of this means anything. He’s had too much to drink, and it’s been a while since he’s felt this way, so maybe his mind is running a little rampant. He needs to get a grip.

Ellery’s quiet question interrupts Noah’s spiraling thoughts. “How much can you press?” he asks, his fingers gently probing Noah’s flexed arm.

Noah, still struggling to make sense of his emotions, responds with a question that seems out of place. “How much do you weigh?” It’s a poorly-thought-out response, meant as a baseline for comparison, but it makes Ellery raise an eyebrow, and Noah feels a wave of dizziness hit him, threatening to make him topple off the side of the balcony.

Ellery chuckles softly, his breath warm against Noah’s skin as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “Cocky, huh?” He smirks, releasing the smoke in a slow, deliberate exhale that envelops Noah’s face. Ellery then leans in and presses his lips to Noah’s bicep, kissing the muscle with a tenderness that catches Noah completely off guard.

It takes a moment for Noah to process what’s happening. His eyes widen, and his face flushes with heat as Ellery’s lips linger on his arm. The kiss is gentle and soft, like a reverent touch from someone worshipping at an altar. Noah’s skin feels electrified where Ellery’s lips have made contact, sending a shiver up his neck and pooling warmth in his stomach. The sensation is intense and unsettling, leaving Noah both exhilarated and confused.

Ellery doesn’t linger long. He trails a second kiss further up Noah’s arm, and just as Noah’s brain starts to catch up with what’s happening, he pulls his arm away abruptly, letting out a ragged breath. “H-Hey, now.”

Ellery pulls back with an innocent look, seemingly unaffected by Noah’s reaction. “Too much?” he asks, holding the cigarette up between them. Noah, with shaking fingers, takes the cigarette from Ellery’s hand, his mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy.

“Sorry,” Ellery says, his tone sincere yet lighthearted. “You’ve got really nice arms. It’s kind of… a thing for me, I guess.”

The panic surging through Noah is unmistakable, but it’s interlaced with something else—something like excitement—that leaves him teetering on the edge of a precipice he’s not sure he wants to fall from. He feels a strong urge to retreat inside and distance himself from the intensity of the moment, yet there's an equally powerful draw towards the warmth of Ellery’s touch. The conflicting emotions are overwhSarahing. What the hell is happening?

“It’s fine,” Noah mutters through clenched teeth, though he has no idea if it’s genuinely fine or not. His judgment feels clouded, and he’s acutely aware that he’s not hiding his reactions well. He’s always been terrible at masking his feelings—his emotions spill out like an open book. It’s particularly frustrating that tonight, of all nights, he’s struggling to conceal his turmoil. Ellery, on the other hand, remains calm and patient, smiling at him as if there’s nothing amiss, and who could run from that?

Noah takes another drag from his cigarette, the embers flaring bright in the dim light. He clears his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of control. “We’re practically kissing anyway, the way we’re sharing this thing,” he says, his voice betraying his anxiety.

“You think so?” Ellery’s gaze lingers on Noah’s lips as he responds, and Noah can’t shake the feeling that Ellery is deliberately watching him closely. It feels as though Ellery’s eyes are tracing the contours of his mouth, which only exacerbates Noah’s already heightened sense of discomfort.

“Both, uh… both our lips have touched it,” Noah says, shrugging stiffly. He avoids looking Ellery in the eyes, fearing that doing so will only intensify the growing tension in his pants. The idea of excusing himself to cool down or take a breather is tempting—leaving seems like the best option. The situation is spiraling out of control, and it’s not fair to Ellery, who seems genuinely kind and deserving of more than Noah’s confused responses.

Noah has enjoyed his time tonight, made new friends, and shared some laughs. He should just thank Ellery for the evening and head out, leaving behind any unresolved feelings. Once he’s alone, he can deal with his own issues in the privacy of his own space.

By which he means fuck his fist harder than he ever has in his life.

But even as he wrestles with the urge to flee, he can’t bring himself to leave. Instead, he finds himself compelled to address the situation head-on. “I’m not gay,” Noah blurts out, looking directly at Ellery.

Ellery’s expression remains unchanged, and when he replies, his tone is calm and understanding. “I believe you.”

“You… you do?” Noah asks, surprised by the lack of judgment in Ellery’s response.

“Sure. You get why you’re intimidating, right?” Ellery glances towards the party, where the warm light spills out into the night. “Everyone here feels safe in this space. It’s a place where we can come together without worrying about harassment. When someone new like you shows up, there’s always this undercurrent of anxiety, even though we trust Nathan completely. It’s nerve-racking.”

As Ellery looks back at Noah, he appears entirely different from the man who had been cowering in the kitchen. He’s honest, kind, and open—a stark contrast to the fearful demeanor Noah initially perceived. He radiates warmth and acceptance, embodying everything Noah realizes he has been missing in his life.

“That’s why you’re so scary,” Ellery concludes.

Noah swallows hard, grappling with his own swirling emotions. “Then we’re even.”

“What do you mean?” Ellery murmurs, searching Noah’s face for clarity.

“You’re fucking terrifying,” Noah responds, flicking his cigarette into the street and closing the gap between them. He gathers Ellery’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply.