Chapter Four

Wind pushes through the streets to lift dirt and dust, from which Noah hides in his elbow. Leaning against the red brick building, he drums his heel on the sidewalk with an impatient jiggle and passes wary glimpses up and down the way. Still alone—which is ideal, normally, but that’s part of the problem, isn't it? He’s envisioned this situation in his head dozens of times over and still can’t come to terms with the fact that he’ll be walking in with Ellery.

Seems like it implies more than it should.

Where’s he at, anyway? Noah pulls out his phone and checks it again. Nothing new. The most recent message is an update received ten minutes ago:

Ellery: Be there soon!

No sign of him, though. How soon is ‘soon’?

Absently, Noah thumbs to the top of their chat log. It had been around midnight last night by the time he’d figured out something to say to Ellery. Those two words— Don’t forget —had felt like a challenge. Something for which he needed to stretch prior to tackling.

Ellery: Don’t forget.

Noah: You really think I’d forget after asking for your number? lol

Ellery: You’re up late!

Ellery: Oh, that text was meant for me. It was a reminder.

Ellery: I wanted to ask you something, but you seemed a little overwhelmed at O'brien's. I didn’t want to make it worse.

Even now, that text sends an echo of adrenaline through him. The fear, the anticipation, the roiling in his stomach when he’d read it the first time… the piqued excitement. But anyone would’ve been excited; Ellery is a cool person. Friendly, attractive, funny. Being seen as his friend is a hell of a prospect. Good to remember, when—again—they’re about to walk into this thing together.

Noah: I was fine. Just a little surprised. What’s up?

Ellery: There’s another party tomorrow night at Megan’s.

Ellery: We’re gonna play games, hang out. Junk like that.

Ellery: I asked around and no one invited Nathan, so I figured you might not know about it.

Ellery: You wanna come with?

Noah stares at the message. Wills down the associations and flawed implications so he can keep reading.

Noah: I dunno, man. Maybe.

Ellery: It’s just an invitation. You can say ‘no’.

Ellery: I was hoping you’d come as a friend.

Ellery: We talked last time, right? Before things escalated? We hit it off, I thought.

Ellery: I promise I’m not trying to get into your pants again. Lol. I know when to stop.

Noah hadn’t mentioned that it isn’t Ellery he doesn’t trust—nor had he acknowledged the very real surge of disappointment at that final promise.

Good, you know? This is the way things are supposed to go. Whatever the fuck’s been dancing around in Noah’s psyche has to stop. Nothing’s ever going to come of it; Ellery just looks like an Adonis and had somehow gotten under Noah’s skin in just the right way. Besides, even if Noah were gay—which, no—Ellery is out of his league. It would be a disservice, for Ellery to be with him.

So why hadn’t that rhetoric stopped him from saying ‘yes'?

Noah: Like I’d let that happen again anyway lol.

Noah: Sure, I’ll come with you. Games sound fun.

Ellery: Great! I’ll meet you out front of Megan’s at 8.

Ellery: Unless you’d rather head in alone?

And there, Noah had been presented with another opportunity for distance—and again, he isn’t sure why he’d answered the way he had.

Noah: 8 sounds good. See you then.

It’s 8:14 now. Noah pockets his phone, the time ticking forward with the weight of inevitability, when a shadow slips into his periphery. The suddenness of it startles him, and he lets out an embarrassingly awkward yelp before he can stop himself.

"Whoa. Someone’s on edge,” comes the familiar voice, dripping with amusement.

Noah groans, already recognizing the source before he even turns his head. And there’s Ellery, as nonchalant and effortlessly cool as always, standing just inches away with that signature grin lighting up his face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Walk on the sidewalk? My bad.” Ellery shrugs, his smile even brighter than the streetlights overhead as he shuffles his feet in mock innocence. “It’s in the name, so I figured I was within my rights.”

Noah exhales sharply, trying not to let his eyes linger on Ellery’s face for too long, but it’s like trying to look away from the sun. No matter how much he mentally prepares himself, Ellery is always a sight to behold—impossibly perfect, like something out of a glossy magazine. It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing or whether he’s all done-up or just casual. There’s something about him that’s always a little too flawless, like his existence is calibrated to keep Noah off balance.

Tonight, he’s dressed in a red zip-up over a shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places. It seems unnecessary given how mild the night is, but then again, Ellery’s style probably isn't concerned with function. Noah quickly realizes he doesn’t have the right to judge—Ellery could show up in anything, and it would still look like he stepped out of some high-fashion runway.

"You’re pretty late, Captain Sarcastic,” Noah says, trying to inject some levity into his voice, though it comes out more tense than he intended.

Ellery’s smile widens as he shrugs again, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Had to put on my face. Perfection takes time.”

Noah raises an eyebrow, partly curious and partly trying to suppress his admiration. “You wear makeup?” It wouldn’t surprise him. With how sharp Ellery always looks, it almost makes too much sense.

“No, joking again. I’m just bad at getting places on time,” Ellery says, scratching his nose absentmindedly. Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “You look nice, by the way. I was worried you might always wear that jersey to parties. Happy to see I was wrong.”

Noah glances down at his own outfit—just a simple gray shirt with yellow cracks in the design, paired with tan cargo shorts. His cigarettes are stashed safely in one of the pockets, though he’s already told himself he won’t be lighting up tonight. No indulgences. No escapes. Just the raw, unfiltered reality of spending time with Ellery.

“Don’t talk trash,” Noah retorts with a smirk, hoping to downplay the compliment. “That jersey’s a good conversation starter.”

“Fair enough.” Ellery’s smirk is contagious as he reaches out and tugs lightly on Noah’s sleeve, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You ready?”

The small, casual touch feels anything but casual to Noah. It’s invasive, like a reminder of something unspoken hanging between them. Ellery had claimed he wasn’t pursuing Noah, but moments like this made it hard to believe. If he wasn’t pursuing him, then why the lingering touches? Why the easy closeness?

Noah shrugs off Ellery’s hand with as much nonchalance as he can muster. “Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “Let’s go.”

Ellery doesn’t seem to notice the tension, or maybe he just doesn’t care. He steps forward, leading the way into the building, his movements so light and graceful that it almost feels like he’s floating up the carpeted staircase. Noah follows at a measured distance, his eyes fixed on the spotless white heels of Ellery’s shoes.

And then the worry creeps in, slipping into his thoughts like an unwelcome guest. What are people going to think when they see Ellery leading him in? Would people assume he was with Ellery? Shouldn’t he be the one leading, to avoid that kind of perception? But Ellery was the one who invited him. Ellery was the one who set the stage. Maybe it’s only right that he takes the lead.

No, it’s fine, Noah tells himself, though the doubt lingers. He’ll just hang back a bit, keep some distance between them. Make it clear they’re not some inseparable pair. He needs to draw some kind of boundary, even if it’s just a few steps apart.

By the time they reach the top floor, Noah’s already second-guessing everything about the night. He’s not even inside yet, and he’s regretting the decision to come. Should’ve just stayed home.

Ellery doesn’t bother knocking on the door. He swings it open like he owns the place, and immediately, the sound of loud cheers and greetings spills into the hallway.

“Ayyy, Ellery!”

“Ellerypoo!”

“Now the party can really start!”

Noah blinks. Ellerypoo?

Wait—are they late? For a second, Noah’s mind races through the implications. Did Ellery plan it like this? Did he intentionally give Noah the wrong time so they could make a grand entrance after everyone had already settled in? It seems like something Ellery would do—show up late and make it look cool, like it was all part of the plan.

Noah almost wants to be annoyed by it, but… okay, actually, he kind of appreciates it. Fewer awkward introductions. Less time spent milling around while everyone arrives. Maybe this whole thing won’t be so bad after all.

Maybe.

They step into the apartment, and it looks almost exactly the same as it had the last time Noah was here. The tie-dyed crimson tapestries still hang on the walls like relics from another era, their colors faded from years of use. The threadbare rug under the coffee table protects the already-scratched floor, barely serving its purpose. The furniture is an eclectic mix, mismatched pieces that look like they’ve been collected from garage sales or thrift shops, stitched together like an old quilt. The couch is sagging, its upholstery frayed, but somehow it all fits the vibe. A lived-in space, unapologetically imperfect.

Noah takes in the scene, his eyes sweeping over the dozen or so people gathered around the coffee table, all focused on what appears to be a drinking game in progress. A deck of cards sits in the middle of the table next to a beer can, and at a glance, Noah vaguely recognizes the game. Something simple, one of those drinking games that’s more about getting hammered than following rules. The person-to-can ratio is telling—they’re definitely fashionably late.

“Hey guys,” Ellery announces with a singsong tone, tossing a thumb over his shoulder as if presenting Noah like a prize. “I brought Noah. Y’all remember Noah.”

“Oh, sure!” says one of the guys, a tall fellow with a face that Noah half-recognizes. After a second, it clicks—it’s the same guy who had accidentally insulted Noah’s entire team during their last encounter. Right. That guy. “Hey, man! How are ya?”

Despite the awkward history, it’s nice to feel welcomed. There’s something about the warm atmosphere that chips away at Noah’s nerves. “Good, thanks,” Noah replies, giving a polite nod. “Nice to see y’all again.” He shuts the front door behind him, trying to ignore the curious gazes that linger on him for just a beat too long. His attention shifts to Ellery, who’s already made his way into the kitchen, moving with the easy confidence that seems to follow him everywhere.

Ellery peels off his coat and tosses it casually onto one of the stools at the small counter, revealing a shirt that catches Noah’s eye immediately. The black fabric is emblazoned with the word Proud in bold, white block letters, and surrounding it is a circular splash of rainbow colors, like flecks of paint scattered across his chest. The design is striking—vivid and unmistakable.

And it does something to Noah. Something that twists uncomfortably in his stomach, cold and tight. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s bothering him. The jacket. Ellery had kept the jacket on until now, bundled up despite the warm evening, shielding himself as they walked here. Noah knows why. It was a precaution, a necessary shield against the world outside—a world that wasn’t always kind to people like Ellery. Here, among friends, Ellery could wear the shirt without fear. But out there, in the southern night? No. That was different.

The thought makes Noah uneasy, a mix of worry and frustration bubbling inside him. Is this what it’s like? To have to hide parts of yourself just to stay safe? He’s read about it—stories in the news, headlines about hate crimes and terrorist attacks—but seeing it in person, attached to someone he knows, someone real? That makes it hit differently. It makes the danger real. Makes Ellery real in a way that Noah hadn’t fully processed before.

Noah isn’t sure how to feel about it. Should Ellery always have to take precautions like that, hiding who he is? Or would it be better if he just walked through the world unapologetically, jacket off and rainbow bright? What would Noah want, if he were Ellery? He doesn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know,” Noah finally responds, his voice quieter than he’d intended, his thoughts too scattered to find a clear answer. The words feel strange in his mouth, like they don’t quite belong.

Ellery glances over, brow furrowed with curiosity. “No? You can always get one later, if you want.”

“Yeah.” Noah taps his toe against his heel, bobbing his head as if that’ll shake off the weird feeling crawling under his skin. “I shouldn’t drink.”

Ellery shrugs it off, not missing a beat. “Hope you don’t mind if I do, then,” he says with a wink before grabbing a beer from the cooler. He makes his way back to the group, taking the only open space at the table, instantly folding himself into the conversation as though he’s always belonged there.

Noah, meanwhile, hesitates. The only available “seat” is the arm of the couch, and it feels like an invitation to be perched awkwardly on the edge, not quite part of the group but not completely separate either. He finally perches next to the host, Megan, a girl he only vaguely remembers, and tries to settle in as the drinking game resumes.

The room is buzzing with conversation, laughter spilling over the clinking of bottles and the shuffle of cards. Some of these people are already well on their way to being drunk, their inhibitions loosening with every sip. Noah listens as the conversation flows, sometimes light-hearted, sometimes punctuated with sharp in-jokes that he doesn’t fully get. He suspects it’s a culture clash—this group feels different from the ones he’s used to. But there’s something infectious about their easy camaraderie, the way they rib each other with familiarity and affection.

And despite himself, Noah finds his guard lowering. He doesn’t speak much, but he chuckles along with the jokes, even the ones he doesn’t quite understand. The mood is warm, inviting. It reminds him a little of his team’s get-togethers—raucous and messy, full of energy and connection. Maybe people aren’t so different, after all.

As the minutes turn into an hour, Noah finds himself learning names through casual introductions and overheard conversations. The tall guy who had insulted the team is Gerald; the redhead with the intricate tattoos is Blanche, her ink finally jogging his memory from their first brief encounter. There’s a quiet person with a contagious laugh named Bailey—Noah can’t tell their gender, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Then there’s Sarah, a girl with vitiligo and stunning, YouTube-worthy eye makeup, and Katie, who looks like she stepped out of a time machine from the 90s, her outfit bedecked with gaudy accessories.

It’s an eclectic group, each person distinct, living their truth so effortlessly. Noah feels a pang of something he can’t quite name—envy, maybe? Or admiration. They’re all so… authentic, so unapologetically themselves. And here he is, just Noah.

Not the athlete. Not the guy with the jersey and the cigarettes. Just a quiet observer on the couch, wondering where he fits in. Who is Noah, when he’s not wearing his number?

He’s… this, he guesses. A lost nobody at a party, quiet and aside.

“Okay!” Megan declares, her hand swinging toward the arm of the chair and nearly smacking Noah’s thigh in the process. She pauses for a split second, realizing she’d completely forgotten he was even there. Can’t blame her for that. “I’m officially drunk enough for the next game. Who’s with me?”

“Is it what I think it is?” someone asks from the corner, a teasing edge in their voice.

“Wait, wait—what’s everyone drinking? We need a—the thing!” another person chimes in, the excitement building as they scramble to prepare for whatever comes next.

“Oh, hell yeah! I am down for this game!” shouts someone else.

Noah watches, feeling like he’s missing an inside joke, as the room bursts into action. People start moving furniture around, pushing chairs and couches to form a loose, imperfect circle around the coffee table. The nearly empty beer cans are gathered up, all except for one—the designated survivor, a single Corona bottle placed ceremoniously in the center of the circle.

Wait a second. Are they really about to…?

“Spiiiin the bottle!” Gerald sings, leaning back against the foot of the couch with a victorious grin, throwing his arms in the air like he’s just declared a national holiday. “Woo! Who’s ready to show some loooove?”

Noah’s stomach drops. Nope. Absolutely not. Not playing. Without a word, he stands and heads straight for the stools at the counter, perching himself on the one next to Ellery’s discarded coat. Arms crossed, he plants himself firmly, making it abundantly clear that he’s not participating in this ridiculous game. There’s no way in hell anyone is forcing him to kiss someone tonight, and thankfully, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s about to try.

As he scans the group, Noah catches Ellery watching him from the floor, his face unreadable for a brief moment before he breaks the gaze, turning back to the rest of the group with a smile that makes it clear he’s all in. Of course he’s into it. Noah sighs inwardly. Noah tells himself it’s fine. Ellery’s going to have a good time, and that’s all that matters.

Noah’s leg bounces on the rung of the stool as his eyes flicker over to the cooler sitting in the kitchen. Dammit. He really shouldn’t, but the temptation is crawling up his spine like a persistent itch. He’s promised himself he wouldn’t drink tonight, but it’s hard to resist with the noise, the laughter, and the game unfolding in front of him. When someone yells, “Who’s the youngest? Who wants to go first?” and Bailey throws their hands up eagerly, Noah pulls out his phone, pretending to be engrossed in it.

He’s barely paying attention as someone volunteers to spin first, but he hears the excited chatter and laughter that fills the room. This is a trap, Noah thinks, scowling as he scrolls through his phone aimlessly. He should’ve known Ellery’s invite would lead to something like this. The entire evening feels like a setup.

His eyes skim his home screen, and there it is: the hookup app, still sitting there, like a weight he’s been avoiding. I really need to uninstall that, he thinks. No better time than the present. After all, he’d gotten what he needed—Ellery’s number—and now he’s not even sure why he’d wanted it in the first place.

The noise of glass scraping against wood pulls his attention back to the group. Even though he tells himself he’s not watching, his eyes keep flicking up to see who’s spinning the bottle and who ends up paired with whom. It feels juvenile, like a middle school party, but the others are enjoying it. The cheers and jeers rise with each spin, and Noah sinks further into his isolation, trying to ignore it all.

“Alright, Ellerypoo—your turn!” someone calls out loudly, snapping Noah’s focus back to the circle. His thumb hovers over his phone’s screen as he glances up.

Ellery is on his knees, hands on either side of the table, grinning like the spinning bottle is about to tell him the punchline to some inside joke. That stupid rainbow shirt catches the light, the colors vibrant against his skin, and his hair falls into his face in a way that only makes him look more effortlessly charming. Then there’s his smile—the one that’s about to meet someone else’s lips in front of everyone.

Noah’s gaze snaps to the bottle, his pulse quickening. Please land on one of the girls. He knows it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Ellery’s about to kiss someone, and Noah doesn’t have a right to care. Still, he finds himself silently willing it: Any of the girls. Anyone but…

The bottle slows to a crawl, and Noah’s breath catches as it stops, pointing straight at Gerald. Of all people. Of course it had to be Gerald—the only guy in the room who could match Noah’s height and build, the only one who could make Ellery’s playful grin widen into something more excited.

Noah watches, feeling a mix of dread and disbelief as the scene unfolds in slow motion. Ellery’s head tilts back, his eyes following the neck of the bottle, and then his smile stretches wider when he sees who it’s pointing to. He rises from his knees with a smooth, graceful movement, closing the distance between himself and Gerald, who looks like he just won the jackpot.

“I’m gonna—need a cigarette,” Noah blurts out, his voice louder than he intended. The room falls into an awkward silence, every eye turning toward him in surprise, including Ellery’s. He freezes, halfway to Gerald, his wide eyes locking onto Noah.

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Noah stands, muttering something incoherent, and heads straight for the backdoor. He moves quickly, not caring about the whispered comments or the confused expressions. He just needs to get out. Now.

The door slams shut behind him with a resounding thud, but it doesn’t block out the murmurs from inside. “Whoa. That’s not telling,” someone laughs nervously.

“That’s the first thing Noah’s said all night,” another voice chimes in.

“Is he okay…?”

I’m fine, Noah tells himself as he steps onto the porch. I just don’t wanna see dudes kissing. Is that so bad? He digs into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter, trying to steady his shaking hands. He needs to leave. He’ll smoke this one cigarette and then get the hell out of here.

But as he glances around the porch, the memories hit him hard. This is where he’d stood the last time he was here, where he and Ellery had talked for the first time. The street below looks longer, darker than he remembers, stretching out into the night. Had it been this dark before? Has the city always felt this vast, this… lonely?

He wrests a cigarette from the pack, fumbling with the lighter as his frustration mounts. His fingers tremble as he clicks the lighter once, twice. No spark. No flame.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning over to pick it up after it slips from his hand. His stomach churns as he clicks the lighter again, desperate for it to catch.

The back door creaks open, and Noah tenses, anticipating the sound before it’s followed by the gentle click of it shutting again. Whoever it is, they haven’t spoken yet, but Noah knows. He can feel it.

“Noah.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, still hunched over his lighter. Click. Click. Click. The flame refuses to catch, like everything else tonight.

Ellery steps out from the shadowed awning and into the dim glow of the porch light, the orange hue casting him in an almost nostalgic light, far too reminiscent of the last time they’d been out here. The wind is still, but the tension is thick between them. “Are you okay?” Ellery’s voice is softer than before, more tentative, but Noah notes there’s not a hint of apology in it.

Which, frankly, Ellery should be apologizing. He’d dragged Noah into this mess—into this party, into this game—and expected him to just be fine with it. A grown-up version of spin the bottle ? Seriously? As if it wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable, as if it didn’t push Noah into a corner where he had no idea how to react.

“I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, dismissive.

Click. Click. Click.

Ellery steps closer, calm and unhurried, and Noah doesn’t resist when Ellery gently plucks the lighter from his hand, stopping the repetitive clicking. The fire in Noah’s throat dies, leaving him with only the frustration and the weight of unsaid things. He keeps his gaze fixed beyond Ellery, his body rigid as he fights the pull of the conversation.

“Give me that, too,” Ellery says, gesturing to the unlit cigarette hanging limply from Noah’s lips. After a moment of reluctance, Noah pulls it from his mouth and stuffs it back in the pack. He holds out his hand expectantly for the lighter.

“I won’t smoke,” he mutters, a half-hearted promise to himself more than to Ellery.

Ellery gives the lighter back but remains standing there, filling Noah’s field of vision with his silent presence. His arms hang at his sides, but there’s something disarmingly calm about the way he stands, like he’s waiting for Noah to make the first move.

“Can I help you?” Noah grumbles, shoving the cigarettes deep into his pocket. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but the irritation bleeds through.

“Why are you mad?” Ellery’s question comes without hesitation, straightforward and unflinching, like he’s genuinely trying to understand. That’s what stings.

Noah huffs a bitter laugh. “You dragged me here knowing I’d be kissed by a stranger? Knowing I’d have to watch you make out with your friends? You tell me why I’m mad.”

“‘Cause you’re jealous.” The way Ellery says it—so sure, so matter-of-fact—ignites something in Noah.

“I’m not,” Noah snaps, a flush of heat creeping up his neck. “That’s stupid.”

“Is it?” Ellery raises his hands to his hips, framing the rainbow-colored Proud logo on his chest, looking like some patient teacher dealing with a stubborn student. It’s infuriating, the way he stands there, so sure of himself, so calm, while Noah feels like he’s about to come apart at the seams.

“Why would I be jealous? You can make out with whoever you want,” Noah says, his voice rising in defiance.

“Funny,” Ellery counters, unphased, “because if you’d actually been watching instead of burying your face in your phone, you would’ve seen we weren’t actually kissing.”

“What?” The word slips out before Noah can stop it, confusion flickering in his eyes. He looks up at Ellery, and there it is— that smirk. The one that makes Noah feel both infuriated and… something else.

“We kiss each other on the cheek, or the nose, or the back of the hand,” Ellery explains, his voice calm but with a bite of amusement. “It’s a thing we do. Some of us don’t have great home lives, so we show each other affection. We’re each other’s family. It’s a silly little way to let us feel loved.”

Noah stares, the revelation sinking in painfully slowly. Oh.

“And if you’d looked up from Grindr ,” Ellery adds, shrugging, “you would’ve noticed that right away.”

Noah’s stomach churns, embarrassment and something sharper twisting inside him. Grindr . He hadn’t even realized Ellery had seen. “I still wouldn’t have played,” Noah grumbles, the words coming out harsher than he means. “I don’t need people kissing my—my hands or whatever. I’ve got a supportive family.”

“Good for you,” Ellery shoots back with a precision that hits harder than it should. “So explain why you got so mad about friends kissing each other’s cheeks.”

Noah has no answer. He stares past Ellery, his throat tightening as the unspoken truth lodges itself firmly in his chest. He knows why, but he can’t admit it—not to Ellery, not even to himself.

The silence stretches between them, and Ellery doesn’t push. He just waits, the weight of his presence enough to keep Noah’s defenses on edge. The lump in Noah’s throat grows heavier, the tension in his muscles coiling tighter. He needs to do something—say something—but the words stick, and all he can think about is how trapped he feels.

“Did you kiss him?” Noah finally breathes, the question slipping out before he can stop it, and his brow furrows with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

Ellery’s posture softens, his hands dropping from his hips. “On the forehead,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Gerald’s a good friend of mine.”

“Ah,” Noah whispers, feeling something in his chest deflate, but before he can make sense of it, Ellery’s hands are on his shoulders, guiding him gently backward.

Before Noah can even protest, Ellery is sitting across his lap, sideways, his arm draping naturally over Noah’s shoulder. It’s so smooth, so effortless, that Noah can barely process what’s happening before they’re suddenly close— too close.

Ellery’s weight settles across Noah’s thighs, denim against bare skin where Noah’s shorts ride up, and the sensation of it sends an electric jolt through him. His fingers dig into the bench beneath him, white-knuckled, as he fights the urge to move, to do something. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, paralyzed by the proximity, by the warmth radiating off Ellery’s body.

The worst part is how easy it is for Ellery—how natural he makes it look. Noah’s mind is racing, but Ellery’s just… there, resting in his lap like it’s the most casual thing in the world. His slender waist is right there, within reach, close enough to grab. Noah can feel the weight of Ellery’s body against his, every inch of contact buzzing with something sharp and unstable.

Ellery’s gaze is soft, those blue eyes impossibly close, roaming through Noah’s hair like he’s studying him. “No one here is ever gonna judge you, you know,” Ellery murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’re used to being on edge. But no one here’s gonna judge you. Ever.”

“They already did,” Noah chuckles bitterly, his voice thin and fragile. “I heard them.”

“They weren’t trying to be cruel,” Ellery says softly. “They’ve been in your shoes.”

The words slice through Noah’s defenses like a knife. He grips the bench harder, his knuckles aching, his mind spiraling. Why is Ellery sitting in his lap? Why is this happening?

Ellery’s thumb brushes lightly against Noah’s shoulder blade, and Noah’s breath catches. “Can I ask you a question?” Ellery says, his voice dipping into something more intimate, more tender.

Noah swallows, steeling himself for whatever’s coming. He nods, barely moving.

“Why do you want to keep seeing me, Noah?”

The question cuts right through the heart of it. No bitterness, no accusation. Just a simple, honest curiosity, and Noah’s chest tightens painfully. He closes his eyes, trying to escape the weight of it, but Ellery’s touch is still there, grounding him in the moment.

“What do you mean?” Noah’s voice is barely a whisper, but Ellery hears him.

“You called me terrifying.”

“You are.”

“You kissed me.”

“Once.”

“You let me get you off.”

“Once.”

“You found me on an app just to talk to me. You agreed to come to this party with me. You stormed out when you thought I was going to kiss someone.”

Noah’s breath shudders in his chest. He has no response. Noah bites his bottom lip, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him, and—unable to resist any longer—he gives himself just one thing. Just one indulgence, and maybe it’ll make all this easier to bear. Slowly, he leans forward, letting his head rest against Ellery’s chest, his cheek settling on Ellery’s collarbone. His eyes remain closed as he allows himself to soak in Ellery’s warmth and scent, the sensation rolling over him like a wave. The goosebumps that rise on his skin, the shiver that spills down his neck and arms—it’s all undeniable, all pleasurable. A drug he knows he shouldn’t touch, but he can’t help himself.

Ellery hums softly, the sound low and soothing, like the warmth of a summer night. It’s round, full, vibrating against Noah’s cheek. “So… do you know what you want from me? Given all of that?” he asks again, his voice gentle, not pushing, but simply asking. The hand that had been resting at Noah’s back falls away, leaving a cool absence where the heat of his touch had been.

Noah, eyes still closed, doesn’t answer. He’s waiting, needing something but not sure what. Ellery, as though understanding, reaches down to collect Noah’s clenched hands from the bench beneath him. He places them on his waist— permission . It’s not needy or suggestive, just calm, allowing. And Noah shivers at the feel of it, tightening his grip on Ellery’s waist instinctively, pulling them closer together before he can stop himself.

His thumbs trace the lovely curve of Ellery’s hip bones, the subtle rise and fall, and something in Noah gives way. He leans in further, his lips brushing against Ellery’s neck, his nose pressing against the warm skin there. It’s the same skin he had once licked and sucked without a second thought, back when he’d been braver, more reckless.

“I don’t know,” Noah finally answers, his voice weak and muffled by the proximity to Ellery’s neck. It had taken too long to say, but it’s the truth. He really doesn’t know.

Ellery trembles slightly, and Noah feels the shift in his body— need —hitting him like a sudden wave of heat. It’s all-consuming, and Noah has to choke back a growl that threatens to escape. His lips hover against Ellery’s neck, feeling the subtle motion of his Adam’s apple as Ellery swallows.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Ellery’s voice is soft but direct, the words landing with a weight that presses down on Noah’s chest. “Kiss you the same way you thought I kissed Gerald?”

If the stars above and the very air between them can hold the gravity of that question without collapsing, then so can Noah. He can let it pile on, the truth resting on top of everything else. Ellery won’t judge him. He’d said so. Even if everyone else here might, Ellery won’t.

“Yes,” Noah whispers, almost too softly to be heard. His hands trail up Ellery’s sides, savoring the feel of him, the warmth under his fingertips. “But please don’t.”

Ellery’s response is immediate—a soft, breathy chuckle, almost a silent laugh, shaking his body against Noah’s. He strokes a hand through Noah’s hair, fingers threading gently through the strands. “I won’t, then,” Ellery says, and his tone is reassuring, but there’s something there— he would if you asked . Noah knows it.

The effort it takes to push that thought down, to resist the pull of wanting more, is monumental. Laughable, really, that Noah had thought resisting a cigarette was hard. It’s nothing compared to this. “Can we… stay like this for a minute, though?” Noah asks, voice shaky, but he knows it’s the most he’ll allow himself to ask for. Just this. Just for now.

Ellery’s weight in his lap, the closeness, the warmth—it’s enough. Enough to make up for everything he can’t let happen. For a little while, here on this porch, Ellery is his. No one else around, no one to judge or speculate. Just them.

Ellery nods, agreeing to Noah’s unspoken terms. “Sure. If you’re comfortable with it. I like this.”

“Yeah… me too,” Noah admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He feels the steady rise and fall of Ellery’s chest against his. For a moment, he lets himself believe this is real—that it can last longer than just tonight.

“I like you,” Ellery adds, his voice carrying an unexpected softness, like he’s laying bare something he’s been holding onto for a while.

Noah snorts, cheeks flushing. “You don’t really know me.”

Ellery’s smile can be felt rather than seen. “No? I know you’re resourceful and funny, and sensitive. And that you’re tall and handsome, and that these arms make me feel safe.”

Noah’s throat tightens at the words. He can’t look at Ellery right now. If he does, he’ll crumble. “Are there drinks inside that aren’t alcoholic?” he mutters, desperate to deflect. “Some cold water would be great. Dumped over my head.”

Ellery laughs again, the sound vibrating through Noah’s chest, and shifts slightly in his lap, wiggling as if to tease him. “You doing really know me either, huh?” Ellery says playfully, clearly amused by Noah’s attempt to dodge the moment.

Noah huffs in response, but he can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Damn him. Ellery has a way of making even the most uncomfortable moments feel… okay. He’s disarming, without even trying.

“We should hang out. Just the two of us next time. Would that be okay with you?”

Sirens go off in Noah’s head, only dulled when he takes a deep inhale of Ellery’s cologne. “Not like this, if that’s what you mean.”

“No. Just as friends. Not as… whatever this is, anyway.”

The reminder seems to make Ellery shift, and he wraps his arms around Noah’s shoulders in an encompassing hug. Is he…? Is he dreading the end of this as much as Noah is? That’s insane. Ellery is soft and sexy and— shit, not sexy. He’s…

Fuck it. Ellery is sexy. He’d been sexy at the first party and again at the bar and still is, here in Noah’s arms. There’s no use denying the undeniable. Every damn time Noah sees him— thinks about him, for fuck’s sake, it’s inconvenient and usually winds up with him sweating into his sheets, fighting through a paragraph of information on a dating profile to see a photo, but also reading the words every few seconds because after all, Ellery's "more than just a pretty face".

“As friends,” Noah decides, circling back to the half-invitation. “Fine. No touching.”

“No touching,” pledges Ellery, feigning a raised hand in scout’s honor.

Noah’s lips tug up in a small smile at the thought of having Ellery to himself elsewhere, even with distance between. He’s a cool person, beneath that cocktease exterior. “Where would we go?”

“Hmm.” Ellery drums his fingers on Noah’s shoulders, and each little rap is a knock on the door of Noah’s consciousness. You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive. “Oh! I have a follow-up appointment in a few days. The piercing and tattoo parlor, downtown.” Ellery rests his head atop Noah’s as the taller one thinks about that tongue stud and tries not to let the betrayal in his pants worsen—a Herculean task, with Ellery in his lap. “Kinda weird, but do you wanna go?”

Noah counts Ellery’s heartbeats through his lips. Best not to seem stupidly eager, even though he is. “If I don’t have practice that day, sure.”

“Cool! I’ll text you the details. Would you rather me drive, or…?”

“I can drive us,” Noah mumbles.

And without meaning to in the slightest—as natural as nature comes—he kisses the underside of Ellery’s jaw. A swift but soft peck that immediately wrenches him into horrified stillness.

Ellery doesn’t move, either.

“Sorry.” Noah retracts his hands, breathless. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Ellery whispers—also winded?—and the urge to grab him and kiss him for all he’s worth assaults Noah. If that small of a chaste kiss had done that to Ellery sober, what would one with intent behind it do? How much power is Noah holding over him, this—this ludicrously attractive man who had apparently cum twice to the thought of servicing Noah and—

And where the fuck had that kiss come from in the first place?! Lust is—it doesn’t—

“No kissing me when we hang out,” Ellery cuts in, severing Noah’s internal crisis.

“Duh. I... I won’t.”

But he hadn’t meant to, to begin with.