— Chapter 26 —

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"Your hair's so long," Riven mumbled, hanging off my shoulder loosely as I locked up the front doors to Joe's.

He'd been slurring a story about his young niece at first, but the conversation had quickly gone off the rails with his last drink.

"I'm going to cut it," I muttered, breath turning to mist in the night air.

"You smell funny."

I gave him an amused look. "Says you. You reek of booze."

He stuck his nose in my hair and dramatically inhaled. "What is that? S-Sand, sandals...?"

"Sandalwood."

Riven hiccuped, "Gesundheit."

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I told him, "I'm booking you a cab."

Riven ruffled my hair and chuckled. Clearly having ignored me, he grinned lazily, "Don't... don't cut it..."

The parking lot was near empty, aside from a few drunk patrons having a last smoke in the parking lot as they waited for rides to go home. Thin, tiny flakes of snow were drifting in the night air, a piece marking the tip of my nose as I carried Riven out.

The bright red head of hair I saw standing beside Noah in the distance caught me slightly off-guard. Marcus. My lips pursed into a thin line.

Noah himself didn't look amused by the conversation, a cigarette burning between two of his fingers. Wreaths of smoke seeped from his pale lips.

He flicked the butt to his feet when he spotted me, crushing it beneath the heel of his chunky, black Doc Martens. Marcus's followed Noah's gaze to me, his eyes turning to bored slits when he recognized me. Feeling's mutual.

"We going?" Noah asked, almost too eager to get out of his conversation with the red-haired delinquent beside him.

I nodded. "I just have to get Riv in a cab—we'll leave in a bit."

He passed me a short nod, and as I turned away to adjust Riven's weight, I noticed that Marcus's gaze still hadn't lifted off me.

If you have something to say to me, for the love of God, just say it, I wanted to voice. Instead, I offered him nothing more than a flat look and stepped away from the two of them.

Reaching the cracked sidewalk, I called Riven a ride home and waited with him for a few minutes. He would mutter seemingly insignificant sentences to me every so often, laughing at jokes he couldn't explain while drunk.

"Pink hair," he chuckled drunkenly, pinching a lock of my hair between his fingers. I cringed slightly at the memory, but couldn't help the smile that pulled at the edges of my lips.

Holding up his wavering frame, I frowned teasingly, "Alright, it was pink, but only one semester in junior year—and I distinctly remember telling you to erase that from your memory."

"Heheh," he enunciated. "Looked like a My Little Pony character. The pink one. F-Fluffy hair."

"I'm going to leave you stranded here."

He just laughed.

It was... a strange feeling, having Riven back in Boston. He'd left a few months behind James after graduation, and we'd quickly lost contact with each other. But having him with me, cracking jokes, and sharing stories, made me realize just how much I missed him. He was the kind of friend where we'd meet after months apart and go right back to talking like nothing had ever changed.

"Edge, hm?" He frowned lazily, nudging my side with his elbow. "B-Be careful. Trouble. Not good..."

He trailed off with a long yawn.

"What does that mean?" I asked him, but Riven only shook his head and collapsed his body weight on me.

His sudden mass over my shoulders was enough to nearly wind me, though I managed to use all my strength in order to keep him upright.

"Bad," he muttered, letting out a hiccup. "Bad. Not good."

Riven's drunk mumbling made my blood chill in my veins, and I couldn't explain why. It was like everyone else knew something about Noah that made them frown at the mention of his name, but I was the only one who was left out. And nobody would explain it to me.

"The reunion p-party," Riven mumbled, nudging my shoulder.

He changed the topic, making me raise a brow at his words.

"You know about that?"

"Luci," he answered.

The mention of the nickname surprised me entirely. Lucille. Yet another old friend from high school—a close friend of James's. She'd moved away a few years back to take care of her sick grandfather... I hadn't heard from her since. Last I'd seen her, she'd been fully embracing her goth side, with a half-shaved head of long, black hair, pale skin, and piercings at her nose, eyebrows, and lips.

She was also Angela's best friend before she left—if she was really back in Boston, it made sense for her to be part of the reunion tomorrow night.

"She's going?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," he hiccuped lazily. Shaking my figure with his heavy hand, he whined at me, "You better come. Please? It'll be fun!"

It was going to be a party full of people who usually considered me as just an afterthought. But at least I'd been invited... and, at least, I had Riven to go with me.

The marked cab finally appeared in the distance as I let out a sigh.

"Maybe," I said, offering Riven no promises.

Getting him in the taxi, I settled things with the driver and listened to Riv's very loud and very drunk farewells through the open window of the car. I couldn't help the half-smile on my lips.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket after waving him off. For a few moments after, I still hadn't moved from my place, wrapped in thought.

It had been a long time since I'd last heard of so many familiar names in Boston.

Strangely enough... I had a bad feeling about it.

I returned to Noah's side just as Marcus left for the night, looking up into Noah's tired, light-brown irises. His cheeks had been flushed a light shade of pink because of the cold. Resting a half-lidded look to me, he tossed me his keys and unclenched his jaw.

"You're driving," he decided, making me furrow my brows.

"Your truck?"

"No, my Ferrari," he rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping in his tone. He was out of it—mood significantly different in comparison to when we left. "Yes, the truck. I'm drunk."

What did Marcus say to him?

I licked my lower lip and forced a small nod, trying my best to ignore his bad state. "Okay."

"You can drive, can't you?"

"Of course I can, I'm just..." I trailed off as we stopped at the truck, "out of practice."

He opened the passenger side door and clicked his tongue, offering me a short shrug as he spoke.

"Well, then... try not to kill us both."

"I'm not that out of practice," I mumbled, getting into the driver's seat. It was a strange feeling, being on the other side of the car for once. "Just... thank god it's not a manual."

"You can't drive stick?"

"Nope," I admitted, starting up the rumbling engine.

"Alright, Alley Cat," he said. "Just put the damn thing in drive and try not to hit any lamp posts for both our sakes, you hear me?"

"Don't tempt me."

Surprisingly enough, I managed to coax a smile out of him with my words.

Despite shuffling in my bedsheets for what felt like hours, I couldn't manage to pass out after the two of us finally got back into the apartment. The clock on the wall of my bedroom read 3:27 am when my eyes finally shot open in frustration.

I couldn't decide whether it was because of the new bed or because of the stress of the last week, but I just couldn't get my eyes to stay shut.

Thoughts wouldn't stop whirring in my mind. About my father and being kicked out. About Riven being back in Boston. About the reunion party that was just hours away. About Noah, and the kiss that still haunted my lips despite the days that had passed.

But the most overwhelming was the thoughts about my mother.

Two days.

I had to visit her grave tomorrow, and focusing on that fact alone would bring back memories far too painful for me to relive.

Every part of my body ached for sleep, heavy and numb from exhaustion. My brain wouldn't desist.

Or maybe I was so restless because of the quiet humming of the TV outside my bedroom door.

Noah hardly ever slept—that fact had become abundantly clear in the last few days of sleeping under his roof.

It wasn't uncommon for him to be shuffling about the apartment in the early hours, and the sounds he'd be making usually never bothered me. Hell, they would even lull me to sleep at times, considering my strange ability of being able to fall asleep just about anywhere.

So what the hell is the problem? I grumbled to myself, pressing my pillow over my face in annoyance.

The TV had been playing softly for a few hours now, just loud enough to be heard but not enough for me to make out what was being said.

Damn this.

Forcing my tired limbs out of the bed, I managed to find some balance on my wobbly legs. I tied my hair back messily as I headed over to open the bedroom door.

I took the blanket from my bed with me, figuring it was too damn cold to go anywhere without it.

I spotted Noah reclined on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table with his arms crossed over his chest. He was as still as stone, staring blankly at the flatscreen with his phone hanging loosely in one hand.

Fuckass was curled into a ball on the adjoining sofa, snoozing away peacefully with an occasional twitch of its bobbed tail.

I noticed a package of tablets sitting on the table by Noah's feet, a white pellet resting nearby. A medication of some kind.

There was a jar of black nail polish, too, which he'd clearly applied to his fingernails during the time he'd been on the couch.

He was so out of it that he didn't even notice my presence until I was standing just beside the couch in his line of sight.

"You okay?" I asked quietly, noticing his bloodshot eyes and dry lips. Slowly flicking his gaze to me, Noah wet his bottom lip with his tongue and watched me expressionlessly.

"Fine."

I hesitated for a moment before slowly shuffling over to take the empty spot beside him. Giving him the blanket, Noah frowned briefly at the gesture but eventually succumbed, throwing half of the white sheet over his lap and torso.

Resting a glance at the medication, I couldn't help but feel nervous as I turned back to him.

"What did you take?" I asked softly, hoping that it wasn't an intrusion.

He shuffled his shoulders and mumbled lazily as I slowly picked up the packet of the tablets.

According to the label: anxiety medication. The kind that doubled as a sleeping pill, helping him with his insomnia.

But he'd been drinking earlier on at Joe's. I doubted it was a good idea to be mixing his medication with the alcohol.

"I'm fine, Elliot," he repeated, as if he could read my mind. "It's just taking a while to kick in."

I knew that Noah found it hard to sleep, and I should have figured insomnia was the root of it. It explained why he always appeared out of energy, glancing around with tired eyes and dark shadows on his skin.

"You never told me you had insomnia," I voiced, leaning back into the plush comfort of the couch.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Was I bothering you?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, no, I just... I couldn't sleep."

He chuckled lightly. "Yeah. Welcome to the club."

There was a small pull at the side of my lips at his words, but it disappeared only a few moments later.

"And the nail polish?" I asked, nodding to the small, glass jar sitting on the table. Noah passed a glance to his black nails.

"I was bored."

With a nod, I mentioned, "It suits you."

Noah turned to me before I could speak again, though he hadn't done a good job of hiding the lazy smile on his face at my compliment.

"What's keeping you up, hm?" He asked, moving his legs off the table. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

There's that word again.

As if his words hadn't caught me enough off-guard already, Noah adjusted his body so that his head was resting on my thighs. Throwing his legs over the arm of the couch, he looked up at me through thick lashes and stifled a yawn.

"What are you doing?" I stammered, holding my hands away from him anxiously.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

He answered lazily, as if it were a dumb question, passing a glance to the TV. A replay of a basketball game was playing on the sports channel he'd chosen, though he didn't look too interested in what was occurring on the screen.

I let out a quiet exhale. "Well... stop saying that."

"Saying what?" He rasped, licking his red lips again.

"Pretty," I said, quoting the word that had frustrated me one too many times now. "Stop calling me that. It's childish. I hate it."

Noah pursed his lips, feigning some kind of thought. "Would you prefer handsome, then?"

"No, I—" I paused, lowering my tone slightly. "Just... don't say things like that to me. Ever."

"What, you don't think you're attractive?"

"Noah," I grumbled in response. I still hadn't moved my hands, not sure what to do with them.

There was no room to put them on my lap, and I didn't have any pockets to hide them in. Resting them at my sides just felt awkward.

Noah shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I think you're pretty."

I scrunched my nose. "Grow up."

He laughed at my words.

After a few moments, I managed to find a spot for my hands by his head—not close enough to be touching his scalp, instead just grazing his dark locks of soft hair.

"So?" He spoke again. "Want to tell me what's got you awake this early in the morning?"

I bit the side of my cheek for a bit before speaking. "Depends. Do you feel like listening to my whole life story, or...?"

"If you feel like telling it to me."

Looking up at me, his honey eyes traced over my features enough that a self-conscious itch prickled at the back of my mind. Noah was stupidly attractive, making my legs weak just from the dazzling smirk on his face. Stupid, Elliot. Don't fall for it.

I shook my head and sighed. "We'd be here too long."

And I don't trust you.

Noah reached a hand out while I was in my thoughts. Feeling the cold touch of his skin by my eye, I couldn't help but jolt my head away, flinching at the feeling. The surprise alone made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.

I realized the weight of the reaction when something flickered in Noah's gaze. Frustration, maybe. Or pity. An expression that faced me like I was some kind of wounded animal.

"You had an eyelash," he muttered, retracting his ringed fingers from my face.

Ashamed, I spoke quietly, "Sorry."

He turned his face away from me, letting the light of the flatscreen illuminate his side profile in red and blue hues. I noticed the gentle grasp he had around the chain that was always hanging off his neck—the one with the metal ring hanging off it.

"Do I scare you?" He asked.

I didn't hesitate with my answer.

"No."

Maybe he had, at first—before I'd gotten a glimpse behind the rumors that veiled him as some kind of dangerous criminal. But he wasn't like that at all. Not like this, with his head in my lap and his breathing shallow. Maybe not by much, but with me at this moment, he was vulnerable.

This was a side of him that I doubted many people had seen before—this was Noah.

Not Edge.

"Then don't apologize," he spoke again. His soft tone managed to ease my tension, but his words felt heavy on my chest. "Not for your trauma."

We sat in silence for a few more moments as I continued to process his words. But my mind wavered slightly as I looked at him a few minutes later.

I couldn't help but admire the few tiny freckles on his nose and cheekbones, scattered like a galaxy of pretty constellations on his cold skin.

"You know," he mumbled softly, almost too sluggish to form the syllables, "you're... pretty comfy."

Noah's lips had parted, dry again in the night's cold air. Aside from his shallow breaths, he was absolutely still, eyes blinking slowly against the flatscreen playing just ahead of us. His skin looked pale, almost as if he were sick.

Moisture glistened by his waterline, residual liquid keeping his bloodshot whites from drying out—I figured he suffered from watery eyes. But as his blinking grew slower and slower, it was clear that his medication had finally done its job, with Noah's eyelids coming to a heavy close.

For the first few moments, I hadn't even registered that I'd been trapped beneath him, lifting my hands awkwardly as I listened to his sleeping figure.

Crap, I thought to myself.

Sleeping pills or not, I didn't want to risk disturbing his rest by moving his body off mine. I also didn't want to stay locked to the couch, either, considering that my thigh had already begun to go numb from the weight of his head.

Great.

Don't move, Elliot—please don't move, I kept repeating to myself, remembering the frustrating habit I had of fidgeting. I didn't want to wake him up.

He needed the sleep.

Turning the volume of the TV down, I leaned back on the couch carefully and rested a gentle gaze on his passed-out figure.

Bringing my hands slowly to his hair, I couldn't help but notice that my fingers were trembling with nervousness. I didn't know what to do—move his head? Cup his face?

Instead, I found myself interweaving my fingers with his dark locks, being careful not to bother him as he slept. He had soft hair, strands falling by his forehead and down the sides of his temples. Moving them to the side, I let out a shaky exhale and bit the side of my cheek.

His near-black hair had grown out a bit since we'd first met, the short tresses at the back now reaching halfway down his neck. The hairs at the sides of his head weren't as long, faded nicely—almost like a subtle mullet. I'd even noticed a tiny, minimalist tattoo hiding behind his ear.

It was the number , written in a cursive font. I wondered if it had anything to do with the tattoo I'd seen a few nights before, back at Crave. The large '' at his right arm, on his inner wrist.

My gaze traced over his tattoos for a few more minutes before I finally felt myself growing sleepy.

Coming to rest my hands just on top of his hair, I did my best to find a comfortable position for my head and let out a silent yawn. Sleep was finally tugging at the back of my mind, and I was more than ready to give in as I turned off the flatscreen.

Just for a few hours.

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Early update! Thanks for reading this chapter <3 Do you guys have any theories on Noah's tattoos? 👀