— Chapter 23 —

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I couldn't remember how long I'd been walking for.

My legs felt as if they were on the verge of collapsing beneath me. The weight of the heavy duffle bags in my hands didn't help. I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood, on an unfamiliar side of the city, trudging down an unfamiliar sidewalk.

It was just past two in the morning, according to the phone in my pocket that was just minutes away from going flat.

The street of apartment buildings was silent, aside from the occasional hum of an engine somewhere far in the distance. Lights were off. Trees swayed in the cool breeze. The crescent moon hung brightly against the dark-navy stratosphere, with tiny stars speckled around it like fine glitter.

Someway, somehow, I'd managed to find myself standing across the street from Noah's apartment building.

I felt like a damn idiot.

What the hell was I doing?

I couldn't believe I'd come all the way here, chasing the words that were no-doubt spoken meaninglessly to me by Noah earlier on in the night. That I could ask for help.

A scoff left my lips as I thought of it. What a joke.

The modern building was quite large on the outside. It was three stories from the looks of it, and built in almost the same way as the average motel. The parking lot was directly accessible from the tenants' front doors, though the second and third floors were sectioned off by a metal-gated verandah leading to a stairwell down the side. Noah's place was somewhere in the middle—number '', if I remembered correctly.

It was two in the morning. Noah wouldn't want anything to do with me at this hour—especially not if he'd already gone to sleep. I shouldn't have come.

'Move in with me.'

His words continued to plague my mind as I stood before the building.

Ask for help.

My chin trembled slightly. I shouldn't be here. I should have called first.

Fuck.

My legs felt as if they would collapse beneath me as I forced myself to cross the street, heading shakily for Noah's apartment. My chest still felt heavy, and I was sick to my stomach, but I had already come this far.

The worst he could do was say no.

What if he's asleep? I thought to myself as I walked into the parking lot, finding the open stairwell after a few hesitant moments. Climbing up the slippery steps with slow patience, I gripped my bags tightly for fear of toppling over.

I let out a relieved exhale as I finally made it to the middle floor. God, I'm out of shape, I thought to myself, choking down air.

Tracing my gaze over the bronze numbers on each apartment door, I slowly followed the path of the veranda. It was eerily quiet—aside from the incessant chirping of a cricket somewhere in the distance.

Noah's apartment was at the very end corner of the building, marked with the familiar number '' in rusting metal. I stopped in front of it with tense muscles.

It was all a terrible idea. I didn't belong here.

He had offered me a place to stay—a kindness I'd never expected to be paid to me. He'd offered me help, so why was I finding it so difficult to accept it?

I'd been taking care of myself since I could remember. I'd brought myself up, busting my ass at different jobs since I'd gotten my first paycheque as a teenager. I paid for my own food, my own clothes, my school fees, and even half the house bills after my mom passed—because I realized a long time ago that I could never expect those kinds of things to just be handed to me on a silver platter.

Not once had I ever thought of burdening someone with my problems. Not once had I ever asked for someone's help.

But here I was, for what might've been the first time in my life, standing at someone's doorstep with the idea of finally breaking my streak.

Minutes passed as I continued to stare at the '', with conflicting thoughts swirling messily in my mind. I couldn't bring myself to knock on his door.

I'll call him, I decided. I'll call him, and if he doesn't answer, I'll take that as my sign to leave.

Hesitantly resting the duffle bags on the ground, I turned away from the door and fumbled my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Finding my phone, I eventually landed on Noah's name in my contacts list.

Just call him.

A ringing sound slowly began after I tapped the call button and put the phone to my ear. It was five rings before a voice finally answered, my body tensing immediately at the sound.

"Elliot?"

Noah's voice had a twinge of confusion to it.

I froze.

What the hell am I going to say?

"Hi," I fumbled, cold cheeks growing scarlet from embarrassment.

"Everything okay?" He asked with a kind tone of voice. "It's two in the morning."

"Sorry," I muttered. "Were you sleeping?"

Noah answered lightheartedly. "No, no, I wasn't—don't apologize."

I swallowed and stared at my feet, Noah waiting patiently on the other end of the line.

"This was a bad idea," I finally mumbled. "Sorry for bothering—"

"Don't hang up."

I sucked in a shaky breath, still holding the phone to my ear.

"Elliot? You still there?" He asked me.

I decided to just spit it out. "Were you serious when you offered me that spare room?"

"Yeah, why?"

I shuddered against the cold, passing a gaze back to the numbering at his front door. "I'll take it... if the offer still stands."

"What made you change your mind?"

I paused again.

"I-I got kicked out," I trembled. "He kicked me out."

Noah stopped for a moment on the other end. When he finally spoke again, there was a solemnity to his voice. "Where are you right now?"

I bit the side of my cheek.

"Uh... outside your front door."

"Front door—?" He said, both surprised and confused. "Hold on."

It was a minute of silence on his end before I finally heard the unlocking of the front door. Light fanned my face as it was pulled open—Noah's familiar figure greeting me in the doorway. He had his phone to his ear, standing tall in comparison to my smaller size. Surprise flashed in his honey-colored eyes.

"Hi," I breathed, watching as he ended the call.

His gaze traveled from my figure to the duffle bags I'd picked up while I'd been waiting for him to answer the door.

"Elliot," he spoke, as if he still couldn't believe I was there. "How long have you been standing out here?"

I replied, "A few minutes."

"Shit—well, come in," he told me, reaching out to help me with my bags. I followed slowly behind him.

He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a white hoodie, an unusual contrast to the typical black clothing he wore that matched his dark locks of hair.

His apartment greeted me with the sweet scent of vanilla and a comfortable warmth coming from a heater in the corner of his bright living room. But most noticeably was the smell of spaghetti sauce coming from the kitchen—Noah was making dinner.

Tilting my head to get a better look, my gaze landed on the kitchen utensils and pasta packets on the kitchen counter.

As Noah rested my bags down by the door, I asked, "You're cooking?"

"Dinner. You hungry?"

I furrowed my brows. "Dinner? It's two in the morning."

"...I didn't feel like breakfast."

His words coaxed a small smile out of me, which Noah met with a kind gaze. He led me across the open floor plan to the busy kitchen as I spoke again.

"I could eat," I decided.

"I still have to make the pasta, so it'll be a bit," he explained, gesturing for me for me to sit at one of the stools by the kitchen island. Checking the pot of water boiling on the stove, he asked, "How did you even get here?"

"Walked."

"All the way here?"

"It's not that far," I answered softly, taking a seat and watching him as he placed the spaghetti in the pot.

He scratched the back of his neck and eventually rested his striking gaze on me. "I would've picked you up."

I pursed my lips and thought of a reply, but Noah spoke first.

"Hey, your hand."

I frowned, following his gaze down to my fist. The problem became evident as soon as I saw my busted knuckles and the drying blood from the several nasty scrapes against the door. I hadn't even realized until he'd pointed it out—my thoughts had been so overcome by everything else that had happened tonight.

Noah had already come to stand by my side, swiveling me around so that he could take gentle hold of my hand. Examining the bruises, he spoke, "I've got a kit somewhere—these need taking care of."

"You don't need to do that."

"You're going to live here from now on, aren't you?" He asked, briefly raising his brow. "I'm just being a good roommate. Give me a sec."

Noah turned to leave for a few moments—probably to find his first aid kit. I just sat awkwardly at the counter, watching as the spaghetti loosened into the pot.

A flash of black caught in the corner of my eyes, snapping me from my blank stare. Something had leaped in through the kitchen window, landing clumsily on the round end of a spoon and causing a clamoring sound to fill the air.

Is that... is that a cat?

It was. My eyes widened in surprise as I looked at it—it was a skinny thing, with a short, black coat of fur, emerald-green eyes, and only half of its tail. It sniffed around the counter, paying extra attention to the lidded pot of sauce resting on the stovetop.

Caught off-guard, I waved my hands at it in an effort to scare it off. Calling back to wherever Noah had disappeared off to, I said awkwardly, "Uh... Noah?"

His voice reemerged in the room. "What's the problem?"

"The ca—"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Noah cut me off, resting the first-aid kit on the counter and shooing the cat away from the food. "Not again."

I asked, "You have a cat?"

"That's Fuckass," he answered, watching as the spindly thing hopped down to the floor. "He's a damn nuisance."

"You named it Fuckass?"

"Mm-hmm," he said, opening the fridge.

Finding some kind of pet food in there, he pulled open the packaging and whistled at the cat to come eat. Fuckass answered with a shrill meow.

I chuckled. "Isn't it... kind of ironic that you own a cat? You know, considering that you're a Stray Dog? Doesn't that break a rule or something?"

"Well, to be fair—" Noah paused to put the wet cat food down— "Fuckass doesn't exactly belong to me. He's the neighborhood alley cat. Keeps his belly full by raiding my damn trash unless I feed him proper pet food."

Washing his hands off, he continued, "You know, they've called someone to come get rid of him three times—and every time the little bastard gets away. I really don't know how he does it. He just won't stop coming back."

"Sounds like he really likes you."

"Damn freeloader," Noah replied, passing a mean look to the cat as he walked past it. Turning to me, he pulled the medical kit over and instructed, "Hold out your hand."

Hesitantly, I pulled my bruised hand from the pocket of my jacket. Noah took careful hold of it by my fingers. His skin was warm.

"This might sting a bit," he told me, gesturing to the cotton he'd already soaked in what I assumed was an antiseptic.

I nodded briefly, pressing my lips together as he started to clean the blood from down the sides of my knuckles. It wasn't until he dabbed the antiseptic to the scrapes that I felt the stinging burn. It felt like I'd been pinched.

I hissed painfully, "Ow, motherf—"

"Sorry—I'm sorry," Noah cut me off, an apologetic look in his eyes as he retracted for a moment.

I bit the side of my lip and exhaled, "It's fine."

He slowly continued to clean up the cut, the two of us sitting in silence aside from the rustling of the cat on the floor and the steaming of the pot on the stove.

It was different than it was before.

Back in that little bathroom at Joe's, the attraction between us had grown slowly. But now, as Noah focused on cleaning my battered hand, I couldn't help but notice the thick tension that spiked with every contact of his warm fingers. It wasn't like this when he'd been cleaning my cuts.

It was as if the very presence of him had my body on high alert—something I hadn't felt in the past.

The kiss didn't mean anything, I forced myself to repeat. Nothing's changed.

Noah cut the silence in the air as he began to wrap my hand with one of his bandages.

"Are you okay?"

I made the mistake of looking into those striking eyes of his. The pretty light-brown irises, glowing like sparks of fire beneath the lighting in the room. The same eyes that seemed to be able to glimpse into the depths of my soul with a single glance—eyes that I often found it difficult to lie to.

I blinked my gaze to the floor as a shaky exhale left my lips.

"I-I'm fine."

Difficult... but not impossible.

Noah bit the tip of his bottom lip for a moment and wiped the blood off my knuckles. He spoke his next words with a tone that was softer than a feather.

"You don't have to bottle it all in, you know."

I wanted to tell him that I had to be fine, for my own sake. But the words wouldn't leave my lips. I didn't know how to express exactly what I wanted to say, and it frustrated me to the core.

"Why do you do that?" I asked him.

"Do what?"

I struggled to find the words. "You're... nice to me."

Jesus Christ, Elliot, I thought in embarrassment, watching as he picked up the bandage and began to position it over my tender skin. I'm going to dive head-first out the window.

"Did you want me to treat you like shit?" He joked, beginning to wrap the fabric carefully.

"No, but—" I paused. "It's just... I don't know. I don't get it. People don't usually give a damn, so... why do you care?"

Noah shrugged.

"I guess you're familiar to me, alright?"

I furrowed my brows.

"...Familiar?"

He sighed. "I feel like I've met you somewhere before—and it drives me crazy, because I know it was important. But no matter how hard I try to remember, I can't figure out where I know you from."

I gave him a look. "I'm pretty sure I would've remembered running into you."

His gentle eyes turned back to my knuckles. "Apparently not."

"You've been seeing me at Joe's for years and you've never brought this up before."

He shook his head. "It's not like that—I only realised on the night that we first met. At that park bench, when I asked you for the lighter."

I frowned, trying to remember. "But we never met before then. How could I be familiar to you?"

He scoffed lightly and adjusted the angle of my hand. "Well, I guess that's the million-dollar question, huh?"

I found myself locked into Noah's every syllable as he continued to speak.

"You want to know why I stick around you?" He asked, turning his focus away from the bandages and resting his undivided attention on me. "Why I'm so nice?"

I traced my gaze over the outline of his eyes and nodded hesitantly.

His answer came out with a hint of pity. "Because you're always on your own, and I don't get why. You're kind. You bust your ass every night despite all the pain you're in, and you put up with people's bullshit on top of that. But you never complain. You never ask for help. So, if nobody else is going to look out for you... I will."

His words felt heavy on my chest.

I muttered, "Did you ever figure that maybe I like being alone?"

"Nobody likes being alone," he replied, briefly frowning at my hand. "You hate it. I can see it whenever I look at you—in your eyes. It's like the loneliness is eating you up inside."

"...Is that why you kissed me?"

He briefly paused at the question.

"You kissed me back."

I opened my mouth to reply, but immediately felt stumped for a response.

"That kiss wasn't supposed to happen," Noah confessed, though he trailed off as he focused on the bandages again. "But I don't regret it, either."

I blurted out, "Was that your first time? I mean... kissing another guy?"

I couldn't help but observe the way his neck flushed red at the question. "Heh, what gave it away? Was I that bad?"

"No, no, definitely not, just—" I stammered. "You just looked nervous, is all. But you kissed fine."

"Just 'fine'?" He teased.

My cheeks grew warm.

"Alright," I mumbled, "you were really good."

He let free an attractive chuckle and continued to bandage my knuckles with care. I loved the sound of his voice. He always had the nicest grin and a bright sparkle in his eyes whenever he laughed, the kind of look that always struck me right in the chest. A comfortable silence between us grew once again.

After a few moments, Noah spoke up, breaking the soft tension in the air around us.

"Is it bad that I hope you got this from socking that old man of yours in the face?"

A small pull grew at the side of my lip.

"No... I didn't punch him," I replied. I found it hard to ignore the tingles that rippled through my skin as he gently adjusted my hand.

Noah finally secured the bandages and lightheartedly joked, "Well, if you ever change your mind, let me do the hitting for you, yeah? Your hands are way too delicate for this kind of stuff."

He managed to secure the bandages over my knuckles, and I couldn't help but admire the quality of his work. He definitely knew what he'd been doing—the fabric was held together durably and it wasn't too tight around my hand. But they felt slightly restricting, and the pain in my skin didn't help much either.

"Ha-ha," I deadpanned. "Alright, hardass."

Noah chuckled at my words and flashed me his signature boxy grin.

Just as he turned to go back to the stove, I found myself reaching out and taking a soft grasp on the hem of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

"One thing," I spoke with my head down, the hairs of my fringe falling over to cover my eyes.

He waited for me to continue.

"If I'm going to live here..." I began, pausing as I figured out what I wanted to say. "Then... what happened in that bathroom can't happen again. You can't kiss me like that anymore."

"Why not?"

The question made me frown. Why?

Because I'm broken. Because I'm weak. Because I'm not worth it. The reasons just felt like a checklist in my mind.

Kissing was... intimate. Not like sex. It was personal, something that bore my soul and made my mind linger on pointless romantic fantasies. I'd come to the decision a long time ago that kissing was for only for partners deluded with the idea of love.

And I didn't believe in love anymore.

I can't feel that way for someone again.

"Alright," Noah spoke, seeing that I was struggling with my answer.

I looked up to meet his eyes as he continued. He pulled away from me, and I let go of his shirt as the distance grew between us. I couldn't feel his warmth anymore.

"Stop overthinking it," he told me. "I won't kiss you."

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Me: 🥺

Thanks for reading!