23...UNABASHEDLY obsessed with all that I love!

You couldn’t help but look at him. Tousled, dark hair falling across his forehead. The gentle slope of his nose. The slight part of his lips as he slept. The tattoos climbing up his neck had long since become as familiar to you as the freckles on his shoulders. The little scar under his eye from the dermal he had as a teen. The even smaller scar from his lip piercing. The way his eyelashes cast tiny shadows under his eyes. You knew every inch of his face, but somehow still found yourself looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. 

You tried to not count how many mornings would pass before you woke up next to him again. 

Noah’s eyelashes fluttered, like he could sense your gaze. Before he had even opened his eyes, his hand reached for you. You placed your hand in his, giving it three fast squeezes. Your code for I love you. He opened his eyes. The moment they found you, he smiled. 

“...Morning.” 

“Morning.” 

He noticed you staring. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re staring.” 

“Am I not allowed?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

He laughed quietly. 

“I mean… you are.” 

“Good.” 

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. 

“What time is it?” 

Without letting go of Noah’s hand, you twisted at the waist, stretching awkwardly across the bed until your fingers brushed against your phone on the bedside table. You gave it a hard tug, charger falling to the floor with a clatter. 

“You need to stop doing that,” Noah said. “No wonder why all your chargers break within months.” 

“Oh shut up,” you mumbled, squinting at the screen. 

“Too early,” you stated. 

“Hm. Five more minutes?” 

He opened his arms and you scooted closer, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped one arm around you, hand coming to rest on your waist. You lifted one leg over him, his free hand stroking your thigh. You sighed deeply as you settled against him. Leaning down, he placed a small kiss in your hair, closing his eyes again. 

His heartbeat was slow and familiar beneath your ear, like a song you knew by heart. Neither of you spoke. There was nothing left to say that hadn’t already been said a hundred times before. Neither of you wanted to acknowledge the day ahead of you. In the soft morning light, the tattoos on his chest stood out against his pale skin. You absentmindedly traced the outline of the skeleton and the woman on his chest, over the roses and down to the lettering across his midriff. 

Noah smiled without opening his eyes. 

“You’re doing the tattoo thing.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Is it working?” 

It wasn’t. Usually, it would help calm you down. Usually, tracing the artwork that adorned his skin gave your restless mind something to focus on. This time however, it failed to drown the thoughts swirling in your head. 

“...No.” 

He squeezed you harder, placing another kiss in your hair. 

Then, from opposite sides of the bed, both of your alarms began to ring. 

Noah sighed into your hair.

“…I hate that sound.”

“Me too.”

Eventually, you reached blindly for your phone while Noah reached for his. The room fell quiet again.

You slowly rolled onto your side, turning your back towards him. Then the mattress shifted.

Noah moved closer until his chest rested against your back. One arm slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His fingers laced with yours where your hand rested on the duvet.

He buried his face against the back of your neck.

“…Just one more minute,” he whispered.

You nodded.

“One more minute.”

One minute turned into two. Two into three. Neither of you spoke. You almost felt like as long as you stayed in bed, time was not real. As long as you stayed in bed, you’d have all the time in the world. 

Three and a half weeks. You’d spent way longer apart before. It had always been hard, but it had always felt manageable. In the grand scheme of things, three and a half weeks was easy in comparison. Or, it should be easy. But now, it wasn’t. 

”We should get up,” you sighed. 

“We should,” he agreed. “But I don’t want to.” 

Fifteen minutes later, you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrushes in hand.

Noah caught your eye in the reflection.

You smiled.

He smiled back.

Neither of you looked away.

After a few seconds, you leaned your head against his shoulder without breaking eye contact through the mirror. Noah tilted his head until it rested against yours. 

“…You know,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, “Your toothpaste is disgusting.”

“It’s literally mint flavoured.” 

“Yeah. But like… not enough?”

You could do nothing but roll your eyes at him. 

Back in the bedroom, silence returned. Not an uncomfortable, awkward one. Just… heavy. 

You zipped your toiletry bag shut, complete with “disgusting” toothpaste and all, and tossed it into your weekend bag. 

Noah was folding his clothes, placing them into his bag, when he stopped. It was the hoodie he’d worn the day before. He held it out to you. 

“You can take this.” 

You looked up. 

“Really?” 

He shrugged. 

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You took the hoodie from his outstretched hand. The fabric was soft beneath your fingers, worn from countless washes. One of his favourites. It felt heavier than it should have. Not because of the hoodie itself, but because you understood why he was giving it to you.

You folded it carefully before bringing it to your face for a second. It smelled like him. 

“Thank you.” 

You tucked the hoodie carefully into your bag before zipping it shut. 

"Is this yours?” Noah said, holding up a phone charger. 

You looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know it is.” 

“I know,” he said, grinning. 

You took the charger from him, tucking it away into your handbag before looking around the room. There was nothing left. Nothing that belonged to either of you.

Noah looked at you.

You looked back.

Then you crossed the small distance between you and walked straight into his open arms. You could feel how tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

Your hands fisted the fabric of his T-shirt, holding on a little tighter than you meant to.

One of Noah’s hands cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your back. His chin rested on top of your head.

You breathed him in.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

Noah let out the softest laugh.

“I’m right here.”

You tightened your grip on his shirt.

“You know what I mean.”

“…Yeah.”

He pressed a kiss into your hair.

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence. Neither of you wanted to speak. To move.

”The bus can drop you off at the airport,” he said casually.

You looked up.

“Noah…”

“It’s on the way.”

”It’s not.”

”It could be.”

”Honey…” you untangled yourself from him, looking into his brown eyes. ”It couldn’t. First of all it’s actually the exact opposite of on the way. And secondly, a tour bus has no business trying to get into airport traffic.”

”So? We’ll manage.”

”So… I’m taking a taxi.”

”It’s just a few extra minutes. It’ll be fine,” he said, an almost pleading tone in his voice.

”I’m not making the crew drag that bus to an airport.”

”I’d do it.”

”I know you would, Noah.” 

You reached up, smoothing a crease from the front of his shirt.

”That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

Noah sighed.

”…Fine.”

Both of you reached for your weekend bag at the same time.

”I’ve got it.”

”Noah—”

“I’ve got it.”

You watched him sling it over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing. He hoisted his own backpack onto his back. You were left with your handbag. 

He held the hotel room door open for you.

A few minutes later, the cool morning air met you as the automatic doors slid open.

The tour bus was already waiting by the curb.

Nick spotted the two of you first.

“There she is.”

He pulled you into a warm hug.

“Three and a half weeks, my darling,” he said. ”That’s nothing.” 

You nodded.

“Three and a half.”

Jolly wrapped you in a hug that lasted just a little longer.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you smiled.

Folio squeezed you so tightly your feet almost left the ground.

“Folio…”

“What?”

You laughed despite yourself.

“Nothing.”

Noah handed his backpack to Jolly. He grabbed it and climbed the stairs of the bus with a last nod to you. 

A cab pulled up in front of the bus. Too soon. Noah took your bag from his shoulder and lifted it into the trunk. The driver closed it with a dull thud.

Noah turned back towards you.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then he crossed the distance between you in two quick steps and pulled you into him.

”I’ll see you soon.”

You nodded against his chest. 

”Soon.”

He kissed your forehead. Your hairline. Your cheek. Your temple. The corner of your mouth. Your nose. Then, finally, your lips. 

He rested his forehead against yours as you pulled apart. 

”Call me when you land.” 

”I will.”

”Promise?”

”Promise.” 

”I love you, angel.”

You smiled, reaching up and cupping his cheek in your palm. 

”I love you too.”

Noah gave you a sad little smile as he reached for the backseat door. 

You slid into the backseat. Noah leaned in, reaching for your seatbelt. 

”I can fasten my own seatbelt, you know.”

”I know.” 

The buckle clicked into place.

But instead of pulling away, he stayed there. Close enough that your foreheads almost touched.

“…Three and a half weeks,” he murmured.

You smiled sadly.

“That’s nothing.”

He nodded once.

“Nothing.”

Then he kissed you. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for one last second.

He stepped back and gently closed the door. Through the window, your eyes found each other immediately. Noah lifted one hand in a small wave. You blew him a kiss. He caught it with a faint smile, pretending to put it in his pocket. 

The cab pulled away from the curb, you kept looking back for as long as you could.

Noah never took his eyes off the car. Not even after it had begun to disappear into traffic. You turned in your seat, watching him through the rear window. He grew smaller and smaller. 

Then, just before the taxi turned the corner, his shoulders sagged. He slowly lowered himself into a crouch, one hand pressed hard against his eyes. Nick was beside him almost immediately, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Then, the taxi turned and Noah was gone. And you felt sick to your stomach. 

The flight home passed in a blur of airport announcements, turbulence and unanswered thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house, unlocking the door. Home. You stood in the hallway for a long moment, listening to the kind of silence that could only come from an empty house. 

You dragged yourself to your bedroom, hand lazily trailing across the banister as you climbed the stairs. You could unpack tomorrow after work. Still, you pulled Noah’s hoodie from your weekend bag and draped it over the back of your desk chair.

As the hot water ran over your skin, you tried not to think about how it washed away the last traces of Noah’s touch.

The next few days settled into a strange routine.

Work.

Phone calls.

Counting down.

Missing him.

And then Tuesday morning came. 

The waiting room smelled slightly of disinfectant and coffee. You placed a hand on your knee, trying to stop it from bouncing up and down. A small television mounted in one corner played a daytime talk show no one seemed to be watching. Magazines lay neatly stacked on the coffee table, untouched. Every few minutes, the receptionist called another name, followed by the soft click of a door opening and closing somewhere down the hallway.

To your left, a couple sat close together. He had one arm around her shoulders, the other rested on the visible curve of her stomach. They spoke quietly, occasionally breaking into soft laughter. You looked away. 

Being with Noah meant getting comfortable with your own company. It meant being okay with spending long stretches of time alone. Going to weddings, birthday parties and family gatherings by yourself. Most of the time, you were.

But not here.

Not today.

Most of the other women weren’t alone. Partners. Husbands. Someone’s mother.

You smiled politely when another couple caught your eye before looking back down at your phone.

Noah: Good luck today, angel. Call me as soon as you’re done? I’ve left my phone on. 

You read the message, smiling softly to yourself. 

Before you had the chance to reply, your name was called. 

A woman with a kind face greeted you outside the examination room.

”Hi, I’m Anne. I’ll be your midwife today.” 

She closed the door behind you and motioned for you to take a seat in front of her desk. You sat down on one of the two plastic chairs, crossing one leg over the other. 

Anne sat down on the other side of the desk, clicking her computer mouse a few times. 

She smiled warmly at you. 

”How are you feeling?”

”Tired, mostly. Nervous. I'm a little nauseous in the mornings.” 

”Is this your first pregnancy?”

”Yes.”

She typed a few words into the computer. 

”Do you remember the first day of your last menstrual period?”

You thought for a moment.

”January sometime… 13th? 14th? Somewhere around that.”

Anne nodded, putting it into your chart. 

”That would put you at about eight weeks.”

Eight weeks. Further along than you thought. 

”…And it would give you an estimated due date of October twentieth.” 

The questions kept coming, all routine. Medical history. Medications. Allergies. Family history. Whether you’d had any bleeding or cramping. Whether you smoked or drank alcohol.

”Was this pregnancy planned?” she asked. 

”…Not exactly,” you replied, a little taken aback. ”But very much wanted.” 

”And the baby’s father?” 

”He’s very much involved.” 

You heard the defensiveness in your own voice the moment the words left your mouth. 

”He’s a touring musician,” you continued. ”He’s headlining an arena tour at the moment.”

”That must be difficult,” Anne replied with a sympathetic smile.

You looked down at your folded hands where they rested in your lap. 

”Sometimes.” 

“Have you started taking prenatal vitamins?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“…My boyfriend bought me some the day after I told him, actually.”

”It sounds like he’ll be a good father.”

You could only smile at her, blinking rapidly to stop the burning feeling behind your eyes. 

”We’ll schedule your first ultrasound in four weeks, and we’ll take a blood sample before you leave.”

Twenty minutes later, with a cotton ball taped to the inside of your elbow and a folder full of information tucked under your arm, you walked back across the parking lot.

You slid into the driver’s seat, placing your bag and the folder on the passenger seat. You let your eyelids fall shut as you rested your head against the headrest. You opened them again after taking a deep breath, gaze landing on the folder you’d been given. You picked it up again, flipping through it. It mainly contained the same information that the midwife had just given you. One page was filled with colourful illustrations of fruit, each given a corresponding week. You smiled disbelievingly. How could something so small already mean so much? 

Noah answered before the first ring had even finished. He appeared on your screen, one earbud only half in place, brows already knitted together. You could tell he was laying in his bunk. 

”How’d it go?”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“Do people not say hi anymore?”

“…Hi.”

“So…How’d it go?”

You laughed quietly.

“It went well.”

Noah studied you for a moment, his expression softening.

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I’m not.”

“Angel…”

You looked away for a second.

“…Okay.”

You let out a quiet breath.

“I just felt a little alone.”

His shoulders dropped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I wish I’d been there.”

“I know.”

“I really wish I’d been there.”

You smiled gently.

“It feels better now.”

He smiled back, tilting his head slightly

“So…”

“I’m a little further along than we thought.”

His brows pulled together.

“…Yeah?”

“I’m eight weeks.”

He blinked.

“Eight?”

You nodded.

“My due date is October twentieth.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you.

“…October twentieth.”

You nodded again.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes already beginning to glisten.

“Wow…”

You laughed softly.

“Just before Blueberry’s dad’s birthday.”

He let out a breathless laugh.

“Blueberry’s dad?”

“Well…”

You shrugged.

“That’s your official title now.”

”I can’t think of a better title. Or birthday gift.”

You glanced over at the folder. 

”I’ve also just found out that Blueberry is currently the size of a raspberry.”

Noah laughed. 

”What?”

You flipped the camera around. 

”Look,” you said, pointing at the illustration labelled with a small number eight. ”Just a tiny raspberry.” 

He smiled at the screen for a second.

“Well…”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Trying, and failing, not to grin.

“I think you should go buy some raspberries.”

You laughed.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Feels appropriate.”

You turned the camera back towards yourself.

“Where are you, anyway?”

Noah glanced out one of the bus windows.

“Somewhere in the middle of Canada.”

He paused.

“…Absolutely nowhere.”

“Helpful.”

He chuckled.

“There’s trees.”

“Wow.”

“A lot of trees.”

You nodded. 

”Ah, yes. That really narrows it down.”

”I saw some cows an hour ago, if that helps?”

”Loads.”

Somewhere in the background, someone called his name. Noah looked to his side.

“Noah? We’re pulling in to eat.”

“Yeah, coming.”

He looked back at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

”I’ve gotta go.”

”I know.”

”Call me tonight?”

”Always.”

He studied you for a moment.

”Love you,” he said. 

”Love you more.”

"Love you most.” 

You smiled. 

”Bye.”

”Bye, sweetheart.”

You lowered your phone into your lap, the silence inside the car suddenly settling around you again.

A slow breath escaped you.

You laughed quietly to yourself.

Resting your hand against your stomach, you reached for your keys.

“Come on, Blueberry. Let’s go get some raspberries.”

---

You hold up the cups up, reading the labels, and the handing them out. Judging by the mess of whiteboard pens on the table, they’ve already been at this a while.

“Davis, here's your sugar bomb. Marcelo, the lemonade is the pink one. Noah I didn’t get your order so I guessed.” Noah turns the cup you handed him, trying to read the side of the cup, “It’s a cold brew with vanilla syrup.”

There’s a 50/50 chance he takes it, you knew that when you bought it. Noah purses his lips, his eyes dart to the last cup in the holder.

“Do you want to try mine?”

“What is it?”

“It’s the exact thing I got you with a cinnamon syrup.” Digging through your purse, you find a notebook and pen. When you look up again, Noah's looking at you with a shy smile, your drink in his hand. You pretend to be annoyed, a little huff leaving your lips before you say, “yes, you can have it.”

“Thanks.”

“Ok are we ready to start or are you two still trading coffees back and forth?” Davis teases.

“Done.” You answer him.

The meeting takes its usual cadence. Davis talks about the plans for the upcoming tour. Boxes, logistics, flights, pop-ups. You listen in, cracking a little smile when you see some of your designs in his presentation. Davis is talking about the order quantity when you feel a little kick on your foot.

“Can you focus please?” You whisper to Noah with a gentle kick back.

Instead he steals the pen from your hand, stretching an arm over to your notebook and scribbling a little tic-tac-toe board before pushing it back over to you. It doesn’t matter that the game is over before it starts, the two of you play through X,O,X,O,X. Draw. Noah sets up a second little board. Another draw.

The two of you tune into the meeting, Davis continues on, “Ok guys, so Japan exclusive merchandizing…”

They’ve all been giddy about this portion of the tour for months. The brief tour sounds like a dream, a few stops in Japan with ample time between shows? It’s going to be amazing but not for you. You and Marcelo have to hold down the fort while Davis gets to join them on tour for a few weeks. Privileges of being the boss.

A few more games into tic-tac-toe Noah loses focus and you return to scribbling notes as Davis and Marcelo go back and forth between fabric weights and cost.

——

“Thank you for your time today,” Davis says,closes the meeting. All at once, the room comes alive again. Marcelo and Davis keep talking by the white board while you start packing up your things. Your mind starts going immediately. There’s only about 20 minutes before lunch and you need to email a few documents to Davis now.

“What’re you doing for lunch?” Noah asks.

“I have plans.”

Your eyes wander through the glass walls of the conference room towards Leon's office. It’s an involuntary reaction. Noah’s eyes follow your line of sight before returning to look at you.

Noah gives you a look, not a good one. Not like with the last guy you dated. Then Noah just made fun of the guy a little. He was shy and sweet, Noah seemed neutral there. But now? Noah’s face goes unreadable with every mention of Leon. He won’t say you shouldn’t but he surely doesn't even hint it's a good idea.

“It’s business related.”

His eyes just keep steady on you. There’s no need to say anything.

“Quiet you.”

“Mhm, did you have that conversation?”

There it is. Noah and this fucking conversation. It was only one time that you said it would be nice to be a bit more serious and now Noah won’t drop it. You both know there’s no conversation. It’s just you and a whole lot of hope that maybe, just maybe, and Leon skirting around any serious moments.

“It’s really just casual.”

A lie.

Noah doesn’t bother to hide his disapproval at that.

“There’s nothing wrong with casual,” your eyes follow Leon as he crosses through the office, coffee mug in hand. “You do casual all the time.”

“There isn’t anything wrong if that’s what you really want.”

“Just leave it. Please.” You make sure your voice is firm, calm. Much more serious than how you usually talk to Noah. “Don’t you have to get lunch with Davis anyways?”

Noah nods, his knuckles tapping the table beside you before he starts to walk away, he pauses by the door, turning to you one last time, “I’ll see you at Davis’ place this weekend?”

“Yeah, see you there.”

——

It’s like Noah jinxed it. There’s no other explanation. There is a conversation over lunch with Leon and it is packed with the most cliche one liners you’ve heard. Of course ‘it’s not you it’s him’ and ‘maybe once he has time to find himself’ things might work out but of course he just ‘needs a bit of time on his own’. By the end of it, you take an extra 15 minutes in your car just to recover from lunch.

The rest of the week drags. Every time you look up from your desk it’s like Leon is there. Going from the conference room to your office? He’s getting coffee. A quick trip to the bathroom? Of course he’s by the printer on your way. You’d think that for a man with his own office, he’d just close the fucking door and stay there. This always had a chance of blowing up on you but somehow the secrecy makes it all feel worse. How do you mourn a breakup that didn’t exist?

Once Saturday arrives, you’re committed to one thing and one thing only: your apartment. No stupid boys here, no one to run into, no awkward moments in the break room. You move maybe 10 paces all day. From bed to the fridge, to the door for uber eats, and the couch. You make sure there’s nothing to do but eat and sleep. Maybe watch a movie or two in between naps.

Halfway through a movie your phone rings. You don’t even need to look at it to know just who it’s going to be. You send it to voicemail and it rings again. Fine. You pause your movie, pressing the phone to your ear, you answer with a flat voice, “Yes Marcelo?”

“Mi amor! The BBQ at Davis’ place. Where are you?”

Davis paired the two of when you were first hired, Marcelo handles the financial logistics of the merchandising while you handle the artist feedback and Davis supervises somewhere in the middle. It works most of the time— until these two don’t seem to be able to get along without you.

“At home, in bed.” You don’t feel a bit of guilt in the answer. It’s not a company sanctioned activity. The idea of seeing Leon is more daunting than whatever shit you’ll get for just skipping the whole thing.

“But, my love, we have food for you,” Marcelo tries again.

“I’m already tucked into bed.” It’s an exaggeration but you’re still in PJs with ratty hair.

“Come on, we’re being good,” Davis shouts from somewhere nearby.

“No. I’m not dealing with you demons today.”

“Fine.” Is all the answer you get. No doubt Marcelo is pouting on the other side of the line but he stops arguing, “See you at work.”

“Sounds good, love you!”

With that, you hang up the phone and toss it back onto your bed. Not 5 minutes later it vibrates again.

Noah: Please? He’s not even here.

You: No.

Noah: For me? I got you if he does show up.

You: No.

Noah: Marcelo made that chimichurri you really like and Davis made tri-tip

Noah: ...

Noah: Jess is bringing the baby, you can finally meet him.

You: This is emotional manipulation

You're still hesitant. You know you can keep it professional with work, nobody is the wiser. Still the idea of being uncomfortable because he shows up…

You: You promise he’s not there?

Noah: There’s not even a whiff of him. I promise.

You: Fine. I’ll uber, send me the address.

Noah: Pack an overnight bag. I’ll drop you off in the morning

Noise beckons you into the backyard when you finally get there. Davis’ went all out with the set up today. The louder part of the party is set up by the grill and pool while Michael and Noah seem to have taken up a quiet table in the corner, a bit further away from everyone else.

“She’s here!” Marcelo is loud. “You need to catch up, cariño!”

“What am I walking into?” You ask, hugging Davis.

“Shots.” Davis shoves a tiny shot cup into your hand before you can register. Behaving? Sure. You shake your head as you do a quick scan of the back yard, it's a lot fuller than you expected. No sight of Leon. Thank god.

“What is this?” you ask no one in particular, too afraid to smell the mystery liquid.

“Just take it,” Marcelo says, tapping his plastic cup against yours.

You take a deep breath and commit to downing the entire thing. Marcelo doesn’t flinch but you frown at Davis.

“You’re the fucking worst.” You make a sour face as the liquid burns its way down your throat. Whatever it is tastes like rubbing alcohol.

“You’ll be fine.” Davis tells you.

“Oh you’re gonna be fine when I finally quit on you.”

“Not until after the tour.”

Marcelo is instant on feeding you even if you swear you’re not hungry and Davis shows you a fancy garlic sauce he made. You feel yourself relaxing into things, saying quick hellos and giving a thousand hugs. Maybe coming out will do you some good.

That is a very short-lived belief. Your heart squeezes when you hear his voice and you can’t help but grimace. When you brave a look towards the fence , you lock eyes with him immediately. And of course, a date on his arm. What did you expect? This was a mistake.

You put on a fake smile and start to plot an exit. Just lie. Tell them you feel sick. Before you can commit to running out, Noah wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into a hug. He hides his face in your hair, whispering, “hug me and laugh.”

As though on autopilot, you do just that. When you pull away, Noah still holds you close, too close. You plant a hand on his chest to keep some distance.

“Are you hungry?” Noah asks, his hand still gently rubbing your back. You want to ask him just what he thinks he’s doing but then you catch sight of the glance Leon gives the two of you.

“No, I’m ok.”

Without another word, he takes you by the hand back to his table. Settled between Michael and Noah, there’s a little sigh of relief. It’s still not as comfortable as going home but honestly from this little corner it’s easier to accept your fate.

You listen in to Noah and Michael argue about some Star Wars thing, leaving you to be quiet.

“Are you doing alright?” Noah’s voice softens when he turns to you. This feels worse than being lectured at. Is he just going to treat you like an injured animal all the time now?

“Yeah, fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no way you could’ve known.” You focus on your bag in your lap, finger nails pulling at a little loose thread. The idea of looking at Noah is out of the question, you can hardly handle how nice he’s being. If he’s looking at you with pity, you might just lose it altogether.

“Want to head out?”

You swallow down the feelings that threaten to escape and nod, “Yes, please.”

Noah stands and then he pauses, turning to you with a mischievous smile, “You want to make him jealous?”

“What?” you laugh uncomfortably, unsure what he means by that.

“Just smile and hold my hand.”

“Noah, I don't think that’s a good idea.”

His fingers run along your palm before threading between yours. His hand is warm and firm. It’s surprisingly comforting. Then he turns to face the backyard, bellowing, “See you later, Jesse!”

You inhale sharply, remembering how loud Noah can be. Embarrassment makes your chest flood with heat. It would’ve really been so easy to just sneak away. Noah loves his Irish goodbyes. Why does he have to do this today?

But then you see Leon. His head turning to the source of the noise. Then he stares at your clasped hands and then they meet your eyes. Noah knows what he’s doing and he’s damn good at it.

“You’re such a little shit,” you turn to him and laugh. Then you commit to the bit, turning to Jesse and shouting, “Bye guys!”

It’s not nearly as loud as Noah’s but still it earns you a chorus of goodbyes. Noah smiles at you proudly. “Lets get out of here.”

The drive is quiet. Music fills the air as you settle into his front seat and Noah pulls up directions. No doubt half the fucking party turned when Noah said goodbye. It'll be an interesting Monday trying to explain to Davis why you left holding Noah’s hand.

“When did he cut it off?” Noah’s question snaps you back to reality.

Thankfully it’s dark out and Noah can’t see how hot your face feels and the way your eyes still water every time you think about it. You let out a sigh as you remember that conversation.

“The day you asked about it.”

“Did you bring it up?”

“No.”

He gives a disapproving hum.

“Noah please don’t hate him. He technically didn’t do anything wrong, it's really my own fault for getting my hopes up.”

God you feel like a fucking clown. Even today a part of you was still hoping that Leon would magically change his mind but then he shows up with a whole new girl. Now you’re sitting here waiting for Noah to start lecturing you too.

Instead, for the second time that night, Noah finds your hand, giving you a little squeeze.

“It’ll pass,” you reassure him and yourself. Instead you focus on the good, if not a little ridiculous, part of the afternoon. It’s surprising Davis hasn’t texted you yet nosey as he is, “I really owe you one for tonight.”

“About that…”

“About that?” The question squeaks out of you.

“I have a question.”

“A question?”

“Yes, we have a dinner– for the label– in a few weeks and I’m not allowed to miss it…”

“Okay.” You nod, trying to speed this up. If it’s for the label, Leon will be there. God why is your brain like this?

“It’s a gala type thing. Would you want to go with me?” Noah knows he’s fine going alone but maybe for once he can take a date, avoid the girlfriend questions, avoid everyone trying to set him up. Today wasn’t intentionally a practice run but in his mind if it worked so well briefly today, it’ll work there. What else are friends for?

“And what? We just pretend to be dating?” the question comes out choppy, the way the idea feels in your brain.

There’s got to be a ‘just kidding’, right?

When you look at him he nods calmly. “Just like tonight but a more new folks.”

“OK.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Ok? Yes?”

“I mean, I do owe you one,” you shrug. You’re unsure what told you to answer but it’s done. How hard can one night of pretend be?

——

You wake up early the following morning. It’s impossible to sleep in with the natural light in the spare bedroom. You should probably get home early anyways. You pad down to the kitchen, hoping Noah's restocked the pantry from the last time you stayed over. When you make it downstairs you’re surprised to see Noah's up before you. Papers with his messy handwriting are strewn on the table. By the smell of it, the coffee pot is already on. Did he sleep at all?

“Good morning!” you say, trying to make sure you don’t scare him.

“Morning,” he scribbles on a piece of paper, “Coffee’s still good. There’s oatmeal and some sourdough too.”

“Mhm, thank you.” you pour yourself a cup of coffee. You don't really feel like it but it feels nice to have something to hold.

The air just feels awkward. Something uncommon between the two of you. When you sit next to him at the table, Noah’s stare just lingers weirdly. He’s not talking, not leaving, not settling in his chair. Jts uncomfortable.

“You ok?” you ask gently.

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re ok with next weekend.”

“...yeah. I told you last night it’s fine.”

“And the…pretending?” he whispers it like someone is going to overhear it in an empty house.

“Yes Noah.” Maybe it’s because it all feels so ridiculous that you’re not nervous. Even last night you thought of it like coworkers. You can have a night out like that. “You know it’s really like we’re coworkers there.”

He looks relieved, giving you a small smile. “I thought maybe we could set some ground rules?”

The first thing Davis told you upon getting hired is that Noah is a control freak. Reformed, allegedly. He’s constantly saying he’s better but then…he does shit like this.

He shuffles through the papers on the table, collecting a handful before he and puts them in front of you. Oh this isn’t a joke or some whim. He really thought about this.

“I wrote down some ideas.”

“I can see that.” You look down at the first sheet of paper. It has ‘approved pet-names’ written across the top. You snort as you start to read down the list.

“Noah you did not.” You shake your head at the list, “Cariño? Who taught you that?”

“Marcelo.”

“Of course he did.” You’ll have to tell him to knock it off with the Spanish lessons later. You continue down the list stopping at another, “honeybee? Bro you're like 6’3”.”

“Bro is not on the list, buttercup.” He punctuates the ‘P’ with a pop, really driving home the ick.

“Ew no!” You pick up a pen, scrawling a few extra pet names on the bottom.

“No. The point of pre-approved is we don’t change it.” Noah takes the paper, reading your additions, “No, sweet cheeks.”

“Well then I get to veto some too!”

“Give that back,” flustered and frustrated he reaches towards the paper. You turn away in your chair before he can grab it. “Can you please take this seriously?”

“Fine, silly goose,” you say, handing it back.

His lips twitch into a quick grimace as he takes your pen crossing it off his list.

“Any other concerns?” You ask him. Clearly he’s thought of this much more than you have.

“A few ground rules.”

“Ok, let’s hear them.”

“Don't tell anyone, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Limit physical contact.”

“I can do that,” The plan is keeping your hands to yourself anyways, “How’d we meet?”

“Work.”

Plain and simple. Perfect excuse.

“Anything you’d like to add?”

“Not really.”

You chew on your cheek. You know what you want to ask but it feels so embarrassing, desperate. Just forget about it.

“He’s probably going to be there. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, I see him at work anyways.” You push the conversation along, asking, “What’re you going to wear? What do I wear?”

“I’m wearing black pants and a black shirt so you can wear anything really.”

“Black on black? Revolutionary.”

“Shut up.”

—

It’s kind of fun getting ready for the gala, it’s like you get a second prom. You style your hair in loose curls, Noah always compliments you when you do your hair this way. You do your best with your makeup but it fights you as usual. So your eyeliner is sisters not twins? It’s ok, you tell yourself as you start to feel nervous. What if they sniff you out? What if Leon says something? You feel yourself start to spiral.

Your brain quites the moment you set eyes on Noah. It’s hard not to stare. His outfit is simple but not quite what you’d imagined. A collarless black shirt is tucked into black slacks, the cool silver of a belt buckle drawing your eye to his waist. You crack a smile when your eyes reach the hem of his pants. His socks peak through clearly from under pants that are just a touch too short.

“What?” He asks, looking down for some issue with his outfit.

“You and those damn highwaters.”

“Mhm, got to show off a little ankle for you.” He jokes. The thought of that makes you feel dizzy. Ok, you still have to put on your dress. Focus. You have somewhere to be that isn’t lingering on that thought.

“Hey, just give me like 5 minutes to change and we can go.”

You slip away to your room, putting on the dress but the zipper of course gets stuck. Panic grips at your chest. It’s ok. You can fix it. And you try but after a few minutes. you’re sweating, and now the panic is really making you a little nauseous. Finally you cave in, calling for Noah.

A soft knock lets you know he’s outside your bedroom. “Did you call?”

You open the door letting him in. “I’m really sorry, can you help me? The zipper got stuck.”

“Let me see.” He steps close to you, his hand gently moving your arm so he can see the zipper. A shiver runs down your spine at his gentle touch. Get it together woman. You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves but from this close all you get is his cologne. Warm leather and tobacco. You wonder if you have something that’ll complement it.

“Mhm. There’s a little bit of fabric stuck in it. Let me just…,” his fingers gently pull it down and you sigh in relief when you finally feel the zipper start to move.

He zips it up the rest of the way before stepping back to take you in. It’s a simple dress, a pair of straps dropping into a low V in the front, the soft satin hugging your curves without accentuating anything you’re uncomfortable with, and in your favorite color. You know it’s not just the dress that has you feeling like a mess. Noah, the gala, Leon, it all just feels like such a snowball of weird things.

“Is this dress alright? I didn’t want to underdress but I've never been to one of these galas.”

His hand comes up to one of your straps, fingers gently running under it to smooth it down against your skin. Then he takes a step back, his eyes looking you over head to toe. He doesn’t even try to hide it. It leaves you feeling exposed.

“It’s perfect. You look beautiful."

“Thank you. You look great too.”

"You know I got a little nervous for tonight,” he admits with a shy smile.

“Did you?”

“I always do. It’s so many people, so many variables. I’m really happy you’re coming with me.”

“Of course.”

—

Immediately upon arriving, you understand why Noah hates these things. Everyone smiles so politely at each other but nobody seems to be having a good time. There ends up being a lot of new faces and a few familiar. A lot of the execs that come into the quarterly merch meeting.

You lose Noah at the start to one of those execs. You default to your party tactics, small talk, exchanging compliments and niceties until you find him. You exhale in relief when you see his familiar tattooed hand from across the room. It takes effort to keep a steady pace. You’re so focused on that that it takes a moment to register that Leon is also in his group.

You stand to Noah’s side, settling your hand in the bend of his elbow. Noah locks in immediately. Tucking you into his side, a secure arm wrapped around your waist.

“Tyler, this is my date, Y/N,” Noah gives Leon an intense stare. “Leon, the two of you are familiar, right?”

The small group waits for his answer but nothing comes. Instead you do your best to bulldoze past the awkwardness before it settles. “Hi Tyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tyler looks like he might be an older version of a lot of the men you work with, his hair is neater now, the salt and pepper hair is settling in, well styled, and tattoos still peek out beneath a dress shirt. He’s not nearly as tattooed as Noah but it’s still there.

“Nice to meet you as well,” he extends a respectful hand out to you, “It’s nice to see Noah finally bring a date.”

“You mean one that isn’t Davis?”

Tyler gives you a laugh with a real smile, one that reaches his eyes. You decide you like this guy.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t stray too far. I’m Davis’ assistant,” that one earns a wholehearted laugh. You feel Noah's hand press more firmly against your back. Ok, got it, pull back. Don’t get in trouble with jokes.

“Well aren't you a delight?” Tyler says. “Where are you two sitting?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t have a chance to find our table. Did you, baby?” Noah’s locked in. His smile stays steady as he looks down at you, but you see the way the top of his ears gets the smallest touch of pink.

“It’s over by the musician’s area, silly goose,” Noah’s smile only grows when he sees a flash of disgust behind your smile. His eyebrows just barely twitch upwards almost like a taunt. That one for sure wasn’t on his list.

Tyler cuts off your game, “Nonsense, come sit with us. My wife is going to love you. I’ll have them move you to our table.”

“Is that alright?” Can he just rearrange you like that? Noah’s hand presses light on your back again. He’s not one to question, ok. Understood.

“Of course it’s alright. Unless you don’t want to?”

“Oh, no no. That would be lovely.” you plaster a calm smile on your face but immediately feel a fire start in your brain. Fuck this was supposed to be a smile and wave situation.

It’s in that moment that you realize you and Noah spent more time arguing over fake couple names when you should’ve really studied the people who were going to be here. Noah must realize it too. He takes your hand in his and squeezes a bit too hard. Lovely. Both of you panicked helps nobody.

Noah only let’s go of your hand long enough to pull out your chair and settle to your right. Once you’re both settled, his hand finds its way back into yours, settling in your lap. You hope it looks cute because it feels like your only anchor into this world with the way your stomach is in knots. You thumb gently runs over the ring on his index finger as you try to settle your anxiety.

Everyone starts with the usual niceties about work and their day before talking about work. For a moment it feels like maybe you can just disappear. This is Noah, he’s the important one here, please let me blend into the background.

“How did the two of you meet?” Tyler’s wife asks you. Was her name Britney or Tiffany? It ended with a Y you’re pretty sure.

You start to open your mouth to answer and Noah jumps in. “We met through Davis. They both work in merchandising.”

“Oh how sweet, similar to how Tyler and I met.”

“Really?” You ask her hoping she’ll take the attention back.

“Mhm, did you two hit it off immediately?”

“No.” Noahs quick answer comes off rude.

You squeeze his hand, hoping he understands when you answer again, “no, we were friends for a while. What like two years almost?”

Noah nods, turning to you, “I think so baby.”

“What changed?” She asks you.

Well fuck. Think brain think.

“It was all so gradual. I’m not sure what changed,” You force down a sip of wine trying to buy yourself time to think, “he came to the office one day to review some merch samples. Davis was out that day so we went to lunch, just us, and things were different. I can’t tell you why. I looked at him and I think we were at a place where we both really needed a partner through this phase of life.”

“We got a coffee afterwards and things really took off from there.” Noah says reigning the story back in. Damn, maybe you aren’t too bad at this, you turn to him and smile.

“Yeah, once we got through the crunch exterior he’s a big softie.” You adjust a strand of his hair, staring up at him with a smile.

“I’m surprised we haven't crossed paths at their shows before,” Tyler cuts in.

“Things are just so new we’ve been keeping things quiet.” All you can hear is how fake your voice sounds in to ears, “you know how things are in the industry, we just want to invest time for a solid foundation. I’ve been around but I hang back helping in the merch booth most of the time.”

Tyler and his wife both nod, his wife saying whistfully, “Wouldn’t I know? We were the same way at the start.”

Finally, an out. You turn to them with a bright smile, raise your voice an octave, “Really? You’ve got to tell us about how you met!”

Tyler and his wife look at each other as they start their story. It’s clearly one that’s been told a few times over, each one having their own parts to tell and their playful elbow nudges. Noah’s hand relaxes in yours as you listen.

The rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch. Theres standard questions about your work with Davis and merchandising but it’s mostly focused on Tyler and Noah’s work. The upcoming Asia tour, their upcoming music. A few awards and speeches burn the last hour of the event.

Music starts letting you know the speeches have come to a close. The finish line comes into view. This will all be over soon.

It takes everything in you not to leave the second that’s an option. Instead you follow Noah’s lead, milling around a few minutes while politely saying a thousand goodbyes until you see Tyler and his wife again.

“We'll see you at the showcase, right?” Something in Tyler’s invitation makes the obligation clear. It’s posed as a question out of politeness but you’re expected. Be there.

You already have the perfect excuse out of this one, they never pay for the assistants to attend shit.

“You’ll see Noah, of course, but not me. They only expense travel for Davis and Leon for those events.”

“Oh bullshit! Noah, reach out to my office and we’ll sort something out in the budget,” Tyler answers. Well there goes that.

“Then I guess I’ll see you there,” you smile. Now there's more? You’ll have to figure it out later.

“I’ll reach out,” Noah smiles politely and extends a hand to Tyler, “I think it’s about time we head out. Thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you so much for everything.”

With that, Noah takes your hand in his again and holds onto you rather firmly. The way his hand grips yours feels like you're one misstep from being tossed over his shoulder and carried you out. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in these heels.

Leon cuts off your beeline to the door, his eyes lingering on you, “Some of us are heading to a little bar nearby for a night cap. You two in?”

Never in a thousand years could you have imagined this. Not only is he here but that’s jealousy in his eyes. Your heart feels ready to leap out of your chest but you steady yourself.

You make a show of it, placing a hand on Noah’s chest before peering up at him and saying, “I think we’re done for the night, right babe?”

Noah doesn’t miss a beat, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. He stares at you like there’s no one else in the room, his eyes drifting to your lips and then back to your eyes, “Yeah we were thinking of heading home and straight to bed.”

You hum in agreement.

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday then. We still on for the tour merch coordination meeting?” Leon asks. When has he given a fuck about joining any of your meetings?

“It’s on the calendar,” you say. It’s working. It’s really working. The adrenaline feels insane at this point but you remind yourself to act uninterested. “See you Monday.”

Noah takes your cue and starts walking again. By the time you make it to the car, you feel like a very well dressed wreck. Fragments of the night swim in your mind. Good. Bad. A little embarrassing. And the way Leon just looked at you.

“You know, we aren’t too bad at that.” Noah says it like it's an afterthought, his mind on other things.

“I know right?” You say, taking a spot beside him and resting your head on his shoulder.

Tags:

“C’mon, it’s not that cold!” your older brother calls, already knee‑deep in. You narrow your eyes; you’ve known him long enough to recognize that mischievous grin. Why wouldn’t the ocean be cold?

“I know you better than that, Jolly. You lie!” you shout, barely daring to dip your toe into the water.

“Stop being a baby!” he laughs, sending a splash your way.

You flinch as the droplets hit your face. Being splashed is your personal trigger, something about it sparks an instant, irrational fury. You’re ready to yell when suddenly strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. You shriek, kicking wildly as you’re lifted off the ground. Of course it’s Noah, you can tell by the height of the lift and the manic laughter spilling from him.

Cold salt water rushes around you, stealing your breath. You squirm free, kicking toward the light until your head breaks through the surface. You gasp, exhaling hard, flinging your hair back as droplets scatter in the sun. Strands cling to your cheeks as you swipe them away, blinking the sting of salt

“You dick!” you growl, smacking him square in the chest.

From the side of you, Jolly’s laughter cuts through the wind, loud and obnoxious. You don’t hesitate, you scoop up a handful of water and send your own miniature wave crashing into his face.

“God, you both are so annoying!” you shout, though you’re grinning now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Nick and his fiancée strolling toward the water, all calm and composed, while Nicholas and his girlfriend ease in slowly, testing the temperature like civilized people. Must be nice to take your time, to not be ambushed by lunatics who think drowning you counts as bonding.

Noah’s grin widens when you glare at him, water dripping down your chin. “You look like a sea monster,” he says, voice rough with laughter.

“Better than looking like a drowned rat,” you shoot back, flicking water at him.

“Admit it,” he says, stepping closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “You have fun with me.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “I find you really fucking annoying.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his soaked hair. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Jolly stares at you then at Noah, he’s not dumb; he knows what’s going on and he’s not sure what to think about it. You shove Noah lightly toward the deeper water.

“Go bother someone else before I drown you for real.” Jolly chimes in. He gives Noah a look, one that says, ‘That’s my sister, fuck off.’

“Do it!” You yell, walking over to the other four, hoping it will keep you safe from Noah. “Drowned him!” You joke.

Noah shakes his head, “You guys would miss me too much.”

Nicholas and his fiancée finally wade in, laughing as a wave crashes against their legs. Nick and his girlfriend are already waist‑deep, tossing volleyball back and forth. Why did it have to be a volleyball? No one knows.

Jolly, of course, decides to turn it into a competition. “Alright, teams!” he shouts, scooping up the ball mid‑air. “Losers buy dinner!”

You groan. “You just want free food.”

“Exactly,” he grins, tossing the ball to Noah. “Us three versus those four. Don’t let me down!” He laughs, but you know he’s somewhat serious.

The game begins with laughter, shouting, waves crashing, everyone trying to keep the ball airborne while dodging Jolly’s dramatic dives. Nicholas’s fiancée shrieks when he misses a catch, and you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

You’ve lost track of the ball until something slams into your face… hard. The shock steals your breath. Your hands fly up instinctively, pressing against your nose as pain spreads. For a second, you think you might throw up. There’s numbness and burning all at once, and the world tilts.

“What the fuck, Noah!?” Jolly’s voice cuts through the chaos, followed by the sound of splashing, fast and frantic.

Then Noah’s right there, so close you can feel the heat of his body against the chill of the water. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he blurts, voice cracking with panic. His hands find yours, trying to peel them away from your face. When he finally sees the blood streaming down your nose, his expression changes, guilt and fear tangled together.

“Pinch your nose,” he orders. You obey, and in one swift motion, he scoops you up, one arm under your back, the other beneath your legs. The water drips from both of you as he strides toward the shore.

Jolly’s beside you, jaw tight, anger radiating off him. “You’re an idiot,” he snaps at Noah, but his eyes keep flicking to you, worry softening the edges of his voice.

“Is it broken?” you whisper, dazed, the world still spinning.

Noah glances down at you, his brow furrowed. “I don’t think so,” he says, though his voice wavers. “But we’re gonna check anyway.”

On the sand, Nick and Nicholas rush over, their laughter gone. Nicholas’s fiancée grabs a towel from the cooler, pressing it into Noah’s hands. Nick’s girlfriend hovers nearby, biting her lip.

“Jesus, you fuckin nailed her,” Jolly mutters, shaking his head.

Noah ignores him, crouching beside you as he presses the towel gently against your nose. “Hold still,” he murmurs, his voice low now, careful. “I swear I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a muffled laugh, the sound half‑groan, half‑tease. “You’ve got terrible aim.”

He exhales, relief flickering through his eyes. “Guess I’ll stick to music instead of sports.”

Despite the pain, you can’t help but smile, because even bleeding and dizzy, you can sense the softness in his voice. Around you, the group starts to settle…Jolly still grumbling, Nick cracking a joke to ease the tension, and Noah hovering close enough that his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.

You slowly sit up holding the towel to your nose, “First you try to drown me, then you hit me in the face with a ball…some toxic mom might say you’re only mean because you like me.” You whisper the last part only loud enough for him to hear.

My bed wasn’t the only thing left cold that night.

My heart that was previously full of warmth and love for my girl was replaced with nothing but a cold and empty pit in which I spiraled down as I tortured myself with the memories of that night.

How could I have been so fucking stupid.

I looked up at the girl who sat across from me in the coffee shop.

Denise? Or was her name Dani? I couldn’t remember and I didn’t care to remember. She wasn’t my girl.

All I knew was that Folio had a friend who had a sister who was single and lonely. That’s when I came in.

Folio had marketed me as some eligible bachelor looking for love, when in reality I was a heartbroken idiot who wanted nothing more than my girl back in my arms.

At this point I’d take whatever I could get of her.

“And then she turned out to be Australian, not British!” Denise / Dani said in an excited voice, finishing some story that I didn’t give a shit about.

I laughed along at her laughter, making sure I didn’t seem like a jackass even though I didn’t even know what her fucking name was.

The date ended not long after that, with me claiming that I was exhausted and felt a migraine coming on.

Denise / Dani wished me well, asking for a second date which I barely registered as I left the coffee shop and bee lined for my car and headed home.

She was on the couch when I got there.

My heart plummeted.

“No joy?” She asked, not even looking up as she knew exactly when I was having a bad day. She always did.

“No.” I replied, my voice short.

“Need another distraction?” She asked.

My heart stopped once again.

Was she joking? Did she have any idea what she did to me?

But for some reason, I couldn’t say no, and before I knew it, we were back where we were.

She tore my clothes off again whilst I undressed her delicately, as if she were a porcelain doll.

She pushed me onto the bed whilst I caressed her soft skin that lay bare before me.

Y/N rode me with the same ferocity that she did on the night that broke my heart and shattered my soul into a million pieces. Still, every single ounce of me belonged to my girl.

She nipped my earlobe and kissed my neck with her perfect lips.

I cupped her face and pulled her face towards mine, kissing her with every damn ounce of love that I felt for her in hopes that she might finally catch the hint and realize how I felt.

I knew I was a coward for not just saying those three words, but those three words were the single most terrifying things that plagued my thoughts.

Much like she did that night, she lay beside me with her head resting over my heart, which beat only for her of course, and drifted off to sleep once we had both finished.

I stroked her hair absentmindedly as I stared up at the white ceiling above us as if it might give me some cosmic explanation as to why my girl would never truly be my girl.

She shifted every now and again, and I let her, prioritizing her comfort over my breaking heart.

We lay like that for hours until she woke up at the sound of her alarm on her phone going off. She reached over and silenced it before slipping out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom in her gloriously naked form.

“What’s that?” I asked, curious as to why she had set herself an alarm so late in the evening.

“I need to start getting ready.” She said with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head and making her breasts bounce ever so slightly.

“For what?” I asked, sitting up, making the duvet fall down, exposing more of my lower half. I blushed as I reached for the covers to give me whatever was left of my modesty back.

“I have a date tonight.” She said.

I felt the knife twist.

“A-a-a date?” I stuttered, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable in her bed. Naked.

She simply laughed that beautiful laugh that I love more than any sound on the planet as she walked away from the bed.

Y/N entered the bathroom and turned the shower on.

I sat there frozen in the bed feeling used.

When she emerged about half an hour later, I still hadn’t moved an inch. I sat there like a fool as I watched Y/N put on a fitted red dress and her jewellery, styling her hair to perfection and do her makeup flawlessly.

That’s when she turned to look at me.

“You need to get out of my bed silly.” She giggled.

I stood, still completely naked, and watched as she changed the bedsheets with practiced efficiency.

My hands raced to cover my cock as I suddenly felt exposed.

She giggled at that and I blushed, feeling my cock twitch.

I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this. Not ever. Not when my entire being belonged to my girl. She was the only one who got to see me like this, blushing, naked and vulnerable.

I never wanted to have to get undressed for anybody else.

She was my girl.

Y/N made the bed as good as new before putting her red heels on and grabbing her purse, popping her lip gloss into the bag before strutting out of the room.

“Wish me luck.” She said as she left my room.

The sound of the front door slamming just about muffled the sound of my heart breaking all over again.

For some odd reason, I still felt vulnerable being naked in her bedroom, so I didn’t remove my hands from my crotch as I walked to my own bedroom despite there being nobody else in the house except me.

I sat on the edge of my bed, as if I were waiting for something. As if Y/N might walk back through my bedroom door and realize that I’ve been there for her this entire time.

She never did, of course.

She went on her date and had a blast, even bringing the guy, who I later found out was called Jamie based on her moans, home to our house for the night.

I, however, sat alone in my room feeling sorry for myself.

How was she able to go out on dates and see other people whilst I stayed at home waiting for something that would never happen.

How was I supposed to move on and find somebody else when she was the one who really owned my heart?

I went back to her of course.

Weeks later when Jamie broke things off with her I found myself naked in her bed all over again. Sure, it was a painful cycle but I would take whatever I could get if it meant that I got to be with my girl, even if it was only for one night.

Nights where she tore my clothes off whilst I always undressed her with such care.

Nights where we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

Nights where we stayed awake until the early hours of the morning talking about the future as if we were going to spend it with one another.

I savoured every moment that I got, just to hold her close to me and pretend that we were anything other than friends.

As long as I never had to get undressed for somebody else I didn’t mind.

You lock your car, ensuring your bag wouldn’t be disturbed. You follow Noah to his car, a sleek black, and reliable, sedan. He opens the passenger door for you, and you hop inside. Circling back around, he gets in and starts the car. “I’m not exactly in date worthy clothes.” You look down at your baggy sweatpants and oversized hoodie. You look at him, the first time since getting off set. He’s basically wearing the same thing. “I’m not either. I really couldn’t give a damn.” He laughs, and it makes you feel better about being bare-faced and underdressed. Noah pulls out of the parking lot, and you can’t help how your eyes wander to his hands on the wheel. “So where are we going for dinner?” “Do you like tacos? Theres a nice place not far from here. We go there all the time.” Noah asks, glancing over at you a few times “Tacos sound great.” You smile. Not 10 minutes later, he’s pulling into a small taco restaurant. You watch as he pulls in, and how his arms flex when he shifts the car into park. Noah shuts the car off, but neither of you move to get out. You turn to him, and he’s already looking at you. Your eyes dance across his face, the small, dotted scars on his lip and cheek, the way his lips curl into a smile as he looks at you. And his eyes. God those eyes. Big brown pools that seem to bore into you. You’re leaning in before you can stop yourself, meeting him over the center console. As your faces hover an inch apart, your breathing picks up, matching his. “We should… we should go inside.” You whisper “Yeah.” He responds but never pulls away. He closes the gap in milliseconds and your lips meet. Its soft at first, hesitant and learning. Your hand comes up to his nape and he pushes further, his tongue teasing your bottom lip. His hand finds your waist, pulling you as close as possible in the cramped car. Your tongues dance, and you don’t think you’ve enjoyed kissing someone as much as you enjoy kissing him. He’s soft but dominant, leading the whole kiss as you melt like putty in his hands. You both get carried away, the restaurant long forgotten now. You pull away to catch your breath. A string of saliva connects your mouths as your foreheads rest against each other. “I have uhm- some food at my apartment… Maybe we could-” Noah proposes You don’t let him finish, “Yeah. Yeah we could…” You pant, biting your lip. The car is started again, and Noah pulls out faster than before. His hand lingers on your thigh the whole drive, and it sends shivers through your spine. The sunset glow shines across his face as he drives to his apartment, you can’t help but stare his handsome face as he tries to focus on the road. After about 20 minutes of torture, Noah pulls into an underground garage beneath a tall apartment complex. As soon as the car shuts off, you’re both climbing out. Noah takes your hand immediately, guiding you through the lobby and straight to the elevators. Once you’re in the elevator, Noah immediately has you by the waist. His hands pull you against his chest, and you can feel his growing hard-on at your stomach. He kisses you fervently. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. The kiss is messy and needy, but neither of you pull away when the elevator dings for his floor. Noah walks you down the hall, your lips never disconnect as he fumbles with the apartment key. When you’re finally inside, the door is slammed and you’re pressed against it. You gasp into his lips, every noise swallowed by his greedy mouth. The same mouth travels lower, to your jaw and neck as he mouths over your pulse point. You can’t help but whimper, the sensation fueling the heat in your core. Noah picks you up, his arms under your thighs aa you wrap your legs around him. He carries you across the apartment to the bedroom, before setting you down on your feet to strip you. You pull away, stopping his hands before they can disrobe you, “I owe you a dance, no?” You smirk.

You shove him onto the large bed and step back. You make a show of undressing, winding your hips and bending over as you strip the last piece of clothing. You straddle his awaiting lap, prepared to give him a more intimate version of the dance from earlier, but he flips the two of you over before you can even start. “Nuh uh. Later. Need you.” He mumbles into your neck, mouthing at the soft skin. Noah settles between your legs, sitting up on his haunches to admire your form. Your thighs rest on his, propped up next to his hips. His fingers trail down, ever so slowly. Over your breasts, down your stomach, and finally, where you need him most. “So fuckin’ pretty.” His fingers immediately circle your clit, your hips jerk at the sensation. It's been too long for you. You’re hypersensitive right now. You moan, breathlessly, as his fingers tease you. “Sensitive, baby?” You nod, gasping when his fingers dip inside you for a moment. He changes positions slightly, now leaning to your side, one arm propped under you to cradle your head. His right hand continues it’s exploration. This position allows you to hold onto him and bury your face in his inked neck. “Breathe…” he coos, while his fingers begin teasing that sensitive spot inside you. Your hips jerk, and you can’t help but whine into his skin. Between his deft fingers and your lack of experience recently, you’re teetering on that edge earlier than you’d like. “N-noah, fuck…! I’m—” “Don’t fight it. Cum on my fingers, baby.” He encourages, his hand never stopping his relentless, steady pace. Your body goes white hot; your thighs shake and you're whimpering into his neck before you can even think. His large hand cradles you against him, he rides you through your orgasm. You pant as you come down, and Noah’s clean hand strokes your hair gently. He kisses your forehead before climbing back over you. “Do you still want this?” He asks, running his hands along your shivering sides. You nod fervently, and he begins undoing the tie on his sweatpants. You watch as they’re slipped over his hips, along with his boxers, and dropped to the floor. He’s bigger than you expected, it makes your tummy flutter. “C’mere.” Noah says as he grips under your knees and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He lays his cock over your tummy and he makes a small groaning noise when it reaches to your belly button. You shimmy your hips, a silent plea for him to stop teasing. “Alright, alright.” He surrenders, lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, and the stretch makes your head spin. Of course this 6’3 idiot would hung too. He seems to catch on to your struggle, rubbing slow circles on your clit as encouragement. Leaning down, he kisses your face and neck with a sweetness that contrasts how he’s stretching you out right now. With shallow thrusts, he works his way inside you, you moan in unison with every movement of his hips. “Oh fuck…” You moan when he bottoms out, his hips pressed firmly against yours. “You feel so good, baby.” He murmurs, picking up the pace. Heavy, steady thrusts have you whimpering into his kisses. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he fucks you hard. The wet sound of skin on skin fills the apartment. You’re groaning, whining every time his cock kisses your cervix. Its too much, too good. You’re floating as he holds you close to his chest, his hips meet yours roughly. “Noah, Noah I-” “I got you. Cum for me.” It hits you harder than ever, white-hot and blinding. Your skin burns as you cling to him, pleasure courses through you. Noah holds you close as he follows you over the edge. His face is buried in your neck, loud groans muffled by your skin. He thrusts as deep as he can, holding you against him as he fills you up.

You both shake as you come down, panting into each other’s skin. Noah’s the first to move, prying himself off of you. He goes to the en suite bathroom, grabbing a warm washcloth. He comes back and cleans off your sticky skin. You’re practically melted into the sheets, starstruck from the best lay of your life. “You with me, baby?” He asks, voice soft. He rubs your thighs, soothing the lingering tremble. You nod, already falling asleep. “C’mon...” He manhandles you up against the pillows as gently as possible, sliding in behind you and pulling the duvet over both of you. His lips meet your shoulder ever so softly, his arm wrapped around your center firmly. You fall asleep almost immediately, the long day and the intense fuck melting your brain as you settle into his arms.