Heaven isn´t quite what it seems

Another strike.

Then another.

You ducked one, barely avoiding the edge of the practice sword as it swept through the air where your head had been a second earlier.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

You turned, bringing your sword up again just in time.

Clang.

The impact echoed across the deck.

The sea stretched endlessly around the ship, the afternoon sun high above you, the wind pulling at your hair as you fought to keep your footing.

For one brief moment, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears and your muscles burning, it almost felt like another battle.

Another life-or-death situation.

And then—

“COME ON, KICK HIS ASS!”

You nearly burst out laughing.

Noah was leaning against a barrel a few feet away, one boot resting against the wood, looking far too invested in what was happening.

“Throw him into the ocean!” he shouted.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Noah!”

Nicholas nearly lost his balance laughing.

“What?!” Noah protested immediately. “I’m supporting you!”

“Well, thank you so much!” Nick laughed.

Davis, sitting nearby with a cup in his hand, pointed toward Nick, “They saved your ass not long ago. Now they're allowed to say what they want.”

“Great to know.” Nick muttered under his breath with a little laugh.

The swords clashed again.

This time you attacked first.

Nick blocked your strike, stepped aside, and you almost managed to catch him with another swing before he knocked your blade away.

“Nice!” Davis shouted.

“You were quicker when they were actually trying to kill you!” Noah added.

You laughed so hard you almost missed the next attack, “Well, no shit.”

Nicholas took advantage of it immediately, hooking his sword against yours and twisting.

The blade slipped from your fingers and clattered loudly across the deck.

For a second, there was silence.

Then the crew who was watching the match clapped and shouted.

“NO!” Noah shouted dramatically.

Nicholas lowered his sword, breathing a little harder and grinning despite himself.

“I believe that makes me the winner.”

You placed your hands on your hips.

“You only won because your supporters are quieter. I was distracted.”

Around you, the crew slowly began returning to whatever they had been doing before, conversations starting up again, ropes being adjusted, someone arguing loudly over cards somewhere near the stern.

Noah finally pushed himself away from the barrel and walked over.

He was wearing the hat he had found somewhere on the ship a few days earlier and seemed to love too much.

It was dark brown, slightly worn at the edges, with one side folded upward and a faded band wrapped around it. It looked like something out of every exaggerated pirate story ever told in noble courts.

It made him look even more like a pirate than he already did. Which should not have been possible.

It looked a bit funny, but he looked good in it anyway. What a surprise.

He stopped beside you.

“I was rooting for you,” he said. “Thought it might help.”

You crossed your arms.

“It would have helped if you'd stayed quiet.”

“I was supporting you.”

“You were telling me to throw yoir friend into the sea.”

“That was tactical advice.”

Nick walked away shaking his head with a grin on his lips.

Noah watched him leave before looking back at you.

“Well, thank you for your very useful contributions. Maybe next time I'll win.”

“You're welcome.”

Your eyes drifted upward again.

“What?” Noah asked immediately.

You pointed.

“That.”

He frowned slightly.

“What about it?”

“You look like someone drew a pirate from memory.”

Davis, still sitting nearby, nearly choked on his drink.

Noah looked offended, “This is a good hat.”

“No, it's a very... pirate hat.”

“We are pirates.”

“Yeah but the hat is... too much.”

He rolled his eyes, “The princess has opinions again.”

You stepped closer before he could react.

Because Noah was unfairly tall, you had to rise onto your toes to reach him.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Before he could move, you grabbed the hat and pulled it off his head.

Noah blinked, “You just stole my hat.”

“I learned from professionals.”

You placed it carefully onto your own head.

It immediately slipped slightly over your forehead because it was much too large.

You looked toward Noah.

“Well?”

He crossed his arms, “It looks ridiculous.”

“You're just jealous.”

“It looked better on me.”

“I'm not sure.”

You adjusted the hat anyway, trying to make it stay.

Noah finally stepped forward and lifted the hat back off your head, with a smile on his face, the kind that softened his entire expression.

For a second you simply looked at him.

The sunlight caught his hair, the sea moving quietly behind him, his ridiculous pirate hat held between both of your hands.

Then he gently pulled it free one last time and placed it back on his own head.

“There,” he said. “Balance has been restored.”

You folded your arms, and you were about to argue again when a voice suddenly called from the other side of the deck.

“Hey, can you come here a second? I think I recognized one of the islands.”

You turned.

Jolly was standing near one of the tables with Jesse and a few others, waving the map he had been studying with you for the past couple of days. He had found it on a shelf, marked with several islands that did not appear on any of your charts.

“Come look at this!” he shouted, not like an order but more like he was genuinely surprised and excited.

“Well, duty calls.”

You started walking backward toward Jolly, still smiling. But before you got too far, Noah spoke again.

“Hey.”

You looked back.

For a second he looked almost embarrassed, one hand resting against the brim of his ridiculous hat.

“By the way,” he said, quieter this time, “you were right.”

You frowned slightly.

“About what?”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“The hat.”

You blinked.

“It looked good on you.”

For a second, you forgot about Jolly shouting somewhere behind you, the map, the crew, the ocean.

Everything.

You felt that receiving a compliment from Noah was a once-a-year event.

Then Noah cleared his throat lightly and looked away as if he had said it by accident.

“Anyway,” he muttered. “I'll go check on... on something.”

You felt your heart do something very stupid inside your chest. And when you finally turned toward Jolly again, you were still smiling.

That night, you were sitting on your bed with your legs pulled up slightly beneath you, the cabin quiet.

The shell still rested against your chest.

Every now and then your fingers found it automatically, turning it gently between your thumb and forefinger, feeling the smooth surface and the thin cord Noah had tied through it.

A single candle burned beside the bed; you liked keeping one candle lit before sleeping, the soft light it cast across the walls, the moving shadows that made the small cabin feel warmer somehow.

Outside, the ship continued steadily toward Saint Marlowe, closer every day, and unfortunately, your mind refused to forget it.

You thought about the city.

About arriving. About leaving.

About the fact that soon you would no longer be on a pirate ship with nowhere else to go.

Soon you would have choices again.

And somehow, that thought had become far more frightening than it should have been.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the shell.

You thought about Noah, how you really didn't want to leave him, but how you felt that was your only option because staying would have been wrong, judged, unacceptable.

A knock against the door interrupted your thoughts.

For one ridiculous second, your heart jumped.

Noah.

You stood quickly, smoothing your shirt slightly before opening the door.

And immediately felt a little foolish.

Because it wasn't Noah.

It was Bryan.

He stood outside your cabin holding a folded piece of paper.

“Oh,” you said, trying not to sound disappointed.

Bryan seemed completely oblivious.

“Hey,” he said. “I made something this morning.”

You blinked, “What?”

He held out the paper, “I thought maybe you'd want it.”

Confused, you accepted it.

“What is it?”

“Just look.”

You stepped back into the room and grabbed the candle, bringing the flame closer to the page.

The paper unfolded carefully in your hands.

And for a moment, you simply stared.

It was a drawing, done entirely in pencil.

Of you and Noah.

You recognized the exact moment from earlier that day when you had reached upward to steal his hat. Your hand was stretched toward him, the hat halfway between you.

Noah was smiling.

You were smiling too.

The lines were simple but incredibly good. The movement, the light, even the folds of clothing had been captured perfectly.

And somehow Bryan had managed to draw the moment exactly as it had felt.

Warm.

Easy.

Happy.

Your eyes moved slowly across the page.

“Oh my god.”

Bryan shifted awkwardly in the doorway.

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

You looked up immediately.

“No, it's beautiful.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course, look at this. You have so much talent.”

A smile finally appeared on his face.

“I just thought...” he said, shrugging slightly. “It looked nice.”

You looked down at the drawing again, “It does, I love it.”

You thanked him several times before he finally laughed and told you to stop acting like he had painted a royal portrait.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Bryan.”

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone again. You closed the door behind you and sat back down on your bed.

The candlelight flickered softly across the paper.

For a long while, you simply looked at it.

At yourself. At Noah. At the way he was smiling.

But most of all... at the way he was looking at you.

You had never seen it from the outside before.

That expression. That softness. That affection.

The artist had captured it without even realizing it.

Is that really how the others saw you?

You and Noah.

Because if Bryan had noticed enough to draw it, then maybe the others had noticed too.

Maybe they saw the way your eyes searched for him whenever he walked onto the deck. The way you always looked for him first after something happened. The way you worried when he disappeared for too long, or how relieved you felt whenever he laughed, whenever he smiled, whenever he seemed lighter than usual.

Maybe they saw how much you cared.

How attached you had become.

At some point, without realizing it, Noah had become important.

Far more important than he should have.

You cared whether he slept.

Whether he drank too much.

Whether he was hurting.

You wanted him to be happy.

You wanted him safe.

And after everything he had told you, after everything you now knew about him, you found yourself wanting things for him that went far beyond your own place in his life.

You wanted him to heal.

You wanted him to stop carrying the weight of his past alone.

You wanted him to believe the things you had told him that night in his cabin, and that he was good, that he deserved more than pain, that he deserved to be loved.

Your fingers closed around the shell resting against your chest.

Maybe it was more than affection now.

Maybe it had been for a while.

You weren't entirely sure when it had happened.

Somewhere between learning to fight.

Between surviving together.

Between late-night conversations and stupid jokes and shared secrets and watching him smile when nobody else was looking.

Fuck.

All of this and Saint Marlowe was getting closer every day.

And what happened then?

You looked back down at the drawing one last time. Noah's eyes, even in pencil, were soft.

You carefully folded the drawing one last time.

The paper was slightly warm from the candlelight, and for another moment you simply looked at it before finally opening the small drawer beside your bed and placing it inside.

Somehow it felt too important to leave lying around. You slid the drawer closed, and cabin became quiet again.

The candle still burned softly beside you, shadows moving across the walls while the ship creaked around you. Your fingers found the shell resting against your chest once more.

You tried not to think.

About Saint Marlowe, about Noah, about the drawing, about the way he had looked at you, when another knock interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked.

For a moment you assumed Bryan had forgotten something. Maybe he wanted the drawing back or maybe he had remembered something else he wanted to tell you.

You stood and crossed the room.

When you opened the door, however, your heart stumbled.

Because this time, it actually was Noah.

He looked tired. Not exhausted like he had after the castle, not injured or broken, simply sleepy.

His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he had been laying in his bed trying to sleep for hours, but failed. A few strands had fallen over his forehead, and he hadn't bothered moving them away.

He wore a loose black shirt, several buttons left undone near the collar, the sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. Dark trousers. No boots.

He looked so much softer like this. Less captain. Less pirate. Just Noah.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

His eyes briefly dropped toward the light inside your room.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you already asleep?”

You shook your head, “No.”

A small pause, “I saw the candle under your door, thought you might be awake too.”

You looked down briefly at the thin line of light crossing the floorboards, “Oh. Right.”

He rubbed the back of his neck slightly.

“I just couldn't sleep.”

His voice sounded rough with tiredness.

“And I figured...”He hesitated. “Maybe you couldn't either.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was just... thinking,” you admitted.

For a second he looked almost uncertain.

“I don't want to bother you.”

“You aren't. You can come in for a while.”

Another small silence. Then he looked down the corridor.

“I just thought...” His shoulders lifted slightly. “Maybe we could keep each other company for a while.”

You stepped aside immediately.

“Come in.” You repeated, softly.

He gave you a small grateful smile before entering. The cabin suddenly felt much smaller with him inside, but not in a bad way.

He closed the door behind him.

For a moment neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do.

Then you sat down on the bed, and after a brief hesitation, Noah sat beside you.

Not too close. Not far either.

The candle between you cast warm light across the room, softening the edges of his face. Outside, the ocean moved quietly beneath the ship.

You chatted for a while about silly things, like that strange purple fish Folio had caught the previous week. He had wanted to eat it, but you had convinced him to throw it back into the sea because it looked just like a poisonous mushroom you might find in the woods.

“Hey, you know everything about my childhood now.” He said at some point, leaned back against the wall behind the bed, “But I barely know yours.”

You blinked.

“My childhood?”

He nodded.

“Tell me something nice about it.”

You told him about traveling with your dad when you were younger, the long journeys by carriage and ship, the different cities you had visited.

You told him how you used to stare at the ocean for hours, how you climbed to have a better view, how you always hoped to see dolphins, how you collected small things from places you visited.

How you once got lost in a market because you had followed a musician, how you had always loved maps, the sea, new places, new people.

You talked about wanting to know what existed beyond the places everyone expected you to stay.

And while you spoke, Noah listened.

At some point you realized you were smiling.

“I always loved traveling,” you admitted quietly.

Your fingers played absentmindedly with the shell around your neck.

“I always wanted to see the world.”

The room became quiet again.

Noah looked at you for several seconds.

“So why stop?”

You turned toward him.

“What?”

For a brief moment something passed through his expression, something vulnerable, something that looked dangerously close to hope, but it disappeared almost immediately.

He looked away, “Nothing.”

You frowned, “Noah.”

“It's nothing.”

“You didn't mean nothing.”

He was quiet.

You watched him.

The candlelight moved softly across his face.

“What did you mean?”

He exhaled slowly.

“I don't know.”

“You do.”

Another silence. His jaw tightened slightly.

“I just...” He stopped, and you waited.

Finally he shook his head.

“I don't want to talk about it right now, honestly.”

Your eyebrows pulled together, “Why?”

His eyes finally met yours again.

“I came here because I couldn't sleep,” he said quietly. “Because my head wouldn't shut up.”

His voice softened.

“I wanted to be with you for a while, hear nice stuff.”

He swallowed.

“Not think about what is going on in my head or what happens later.”

The room became very still.

Noah sat beside you, close enough now that you could feel the warmth coming from him.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the shell resting against your chest, then back to your face.

“So we just ignore it?” you asked quietly.

“Ignore what?”

“The fact that Saint Marlowe is close.”

He leaned his head back against the wall.

“I wasn't planning to ignore it forever.”

“But tonight?”

His eyes found yours again.

“Maybe tonight.”

For a moment you thought about pushing anyway. Asking him what he had meant. Asking him why he had asked why you had to stop traveling. Asking him what he wanted.

But you understood him.

There had been nights when your own thoughts had become so loud that speaking them out loud felt impossible.

So instead you smiled a little.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“We don't talk about the future.”

Relief flickered briefly across his face.

“Good.”

“But we'll have to.”

He sighed dramatically.

“That's a problem for future Noah.”

You laughed softly.

“And future me.”

Silence settled again, though it felt lighter now.

Noah looked around your cabin for a moment before his eyes returned to you.

“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I came here because I couldn't stop thinking. And now it's worse.”

You blinked, “Worse?”

He laughed softly under his breath.

“You sitting here. Looking like that. With my shell around your neck. This is not exactly helping.”

Heat climbed into your face immediately.

You looked down instinctively at the shell.

“I didn't know I was causing problems.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.”

You laughed quietly.

Noah's eyes dropped briefly toward your smile.

Then your lips. Then back to your eyes.

And suddenly neither of you was speaking again.

The room felt very small, the candlelight flickered, and you could hear your own heartbeat.

Noah looked almost uncertain as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was allowed to want.

“If I say something,” he said quietly, “I'm pretty sure everything gets more complicated.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Maybe everything already is.“

His eyes searched your face.

You didn't move.

Neither did he.

Outside, a wave hit the hull softly.

And then Noah reached up carefully, slowly enough that you could have stopped him at any moment.

His fingers brushed against your cheek. Warm. Gentle.

You leaned into the touch before you could think about it.

His thumb moved slightly against your skin.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Your heart felt painfully loud.

You shook your head.

Very slightly.

The distance between you disappeared little by little, with no rushing and no sudden movement.

Just Noah, looking at you as though he wanted to memorize your face. And then his lips touched yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant.

Your eyes closed. His hand remained against your cheek while yours found the fabric of his black shirt, your fingers curling slightly against it.

When you kissed him back, you felt him exhale quietly.

As though he had been holding his breath under the water for far too long.

The world outside the cabin disappeared.

No Saint Marlowe.

No future.

No questions.

Only the warmth of him sitting beside you.

Only the candlelight.

Only the realization that perhaps this had been happening for months, slowly, quietly, in every conversation and every shared look and every moment neither of you had wanted to examine too closely.

When the kiss finally ended, neither of you moved very far.

For a moment both of you simply breathed.

Noah laughed quietly, almost in disbelief.

“Well.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Well?”

“I was trying very hard not to do that.”

You looked at him.

“For how long?”

He looked genuinely thoughtful “Honestly?”

You nodded.

“Long enough that I should probably be embarrassed.”

A laugh escaped you.

The tension finally broke, but his hand still rested against your face.

And when he looked at you again, his expression had softened into something you had never seen before.

Something open. Something unguarded. As though, for the first time in a very long time, Noah had stopped trying to protect himself, at least with you.

“So,” you whispered.

“So,” he repeated.

Before you could lose your courage, you leaned forward.

This time it was you. You kissed him softly. For a brief second Noah seemed surprised, and then he kissed you back.

His hand moved into your hair, the kiss lasted longer. Warmer. You could feel his breath against your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest only inches from yours.

And for one wonderful moment everything felt simple.

Then something changed, you felt it.

Noah suddenly became still, the hand in your hair stopped moving, his shoulders tensed.

The warmth that had been there only seconds before seemed to vanish.

When the kiss ended this time, he didn't stay close.

He pulled back, only slightly at first, then more.

You blinked.

“Noah?”

He wasn't looking at you anymore.

His gaze had dropped somewhere toward the floor.

His breathing had changed, the softness was gone. You frowned.

“What happened?”

He rubbed a hand across his face.

For a second he didn't answer, then he stood up.

The movement was so sudden that it made your stomach drop. “Noah?”

He took a few steps away from the bed.

The candlelight caught his face, and you could see something there now that hadn't been there before.

“I think we should stop.”

You stared at him, “What?”

He shook his head, “This is a bad idea.”

You felt as though the room had suddenly become cold, “A minute ago it wasn't.“

“I know.”

“Then what changed?”

He remained quiet. You stood from the bed.

“Noah.”

He finally looked at you, and somehow that was worse, because he looked miserable now.

“I shouldn't have done that.”

“You kissed me.”

“I know.”

“And I kissed you back.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like—”

“Because you're leaving.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does.”

“Noah–”

“I'm sorry.” Then he opened the door.

“Noah.” You repeated.

He stopped.

You stood in the middle of the room, the shell still resting against your chest, your heart still racing from his kiss.

He didn't turn around immediately.

“I shouldn't have kissed you.”

And before you could answer, he stepped into the corridor.

The door closed quietly behind him.

The bed was still warm where he had been sitting.

Your lips still remembered him.

And none of it made any sense.

You stood there for several long seconds, listening to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Only when they were completely gone did you sit back down on the bed.

Your fingers found the shell automatically, and you looked toward the closed door, confused and hurt.

The days that followed felt almost normal, but not in a good way.

It reminded you far too much of the first weeks aboard the Specter, after the night you had found Noah drunk and he had lashed out at you, only to spend days avoiding you afterward as if distance could somehow erase what had happened.

Noah wasn't cruel. You thought he wasn't angry either. He simply seemed to disappear whenever you appeared. If you came onto the deck, he found something to do below. If you joined a conversation, he left it a few minutes later.

At meals he sat somewhere else.

During the evenings he vanished entirely.

The few times your eyes met, he looked away first.

At first you had been angry, then confused, then hurt, and eventually you simply became tired.

The shell remained around your neck.

The drawing stayed hidden safely in your drawer.

And Noah became a ghost moving through the same ship.

Davis noticed, of course. One afternoon the two of you sat near the stern, he glanced toward the opposite side of the deck where Noah was speaking with Michael.

Then back at you.

“So.”

You already knew.

“So?”

“What happened?”

You looked out toward the ocean, “Nothing.”

He gave you a look, “That's a terrible lie.”

You smiled faintly, “It's true.”

“It absolutely isn't.”

You remained quiet.

“You two haven't been in the same room for four days.”

“That's not true.”

“It is.”

You shrugged, “He's busy.”

"He is not."

You looked down at your hands as Davis studied you carefully.

“Did you argue?”

“No.”

“Did he do something stupid?”

You considered the question.

Eventually you answered quietly.

“No.”

“Did you?”

You almost laughed.

“I don't think so.”

He waited.

“Nothing happened.” you repeated.

Davis frowned.

You looked back toward the ocean, “And in a few days I'll leave anyway.”

His expression softened, “What does that have to do with anything?”

You swallowed, “It means it doesn't matter.”

The answer felt wrong the second you said it.

Because it mattered very much, but neither of you spoke about it again.

And the days continued.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Until eventually Saint Marlowe appeared.

It happened at night.

The coastline emerged slowly from darkness, distant lights scattered along the shore like fallen stars. The city itself was still mostly hidden, but the glow of it stretched against the horizon. The ship anchored in a quieter part of the coast, away from the harbor and the patrols.

Everyone became quieter after that.

Even the crew.

Because this was the end, at least for you.

You had packed your things earlier, and it had taken almost no time. You just had a few clothes, and Bryan's drawing, carefully folded and tucked safely inside the pocket of one of your trousers.

The room looked strangely empty afterward.

As if you had never been there at all.

Outside, the wind blew softly across the deck, the shore was close enough now that you could hear the waves reaching the sand.

One by one, you said goodbye.

Folio hugged you first. A rough, slightly awkward hug that lasted only a few seconds.

“I'm going to miss beating you at dice.”

You laughed.

“I'm glad you stayed with us.” He added.

“Me too.”

Nicholas hugged you next, short and quiet.

“Try not to get arrested again.” You told him.

“I'll do my best.”

Davis was last.

“You are one of the very few people on this ship who occasionally admits my cooking is good.”

You laughed as he squeezed your shoulders.

“I'm going to think about you.”

The words hurt more than you expected. You nodded.

“I'll think about all of you.”

And then there was only Noah.

He stood a few feet away from the others.

The wind moved through his dark hair.

His hands rested inside the pockets of his coat.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways over the past few days.

None of them had prepared you for how impossible it suddenly felt to say anything.

You opened your mouth, but Noah spoke first.

“I'll walk you.”

His voice was firm, almost cold.

“What?”

"I'll walk you closer to the city."

You looked at him. He wasn't really asking.

And before you could answer, he had already turned toward the ladder leading down.

You stood there for a second.

The crew watched quietly.

Nobody said anything. And eventually, you followed him.

The wind pulled gently at your skirt and your hair as your boots sank into the sand.

Behind you, the ship sat dark against the water.

Ahead, the distant lights of Saint Marlowe flickered softly in the night.

You and Noah walked side by side. Not touching. Not speaking.

Your heart wouldn't slow down.

The two of you kept walking until the lights of Saint Marlowe no longer felt distant.

You could see individual windows now, lanterns hanging outside buildings and the outline of rooftops.

If you walked much farther, someone might notice you, a traveler returning late, a fisherman, a guard.

The world you had come from and the world you were returning to suddenly stood only a few steps apart.

And then Noah stopped. The movement was so small that you almost took another step before realizing he had remained behind.

You turned toward him.

The wind moved quietly between you, carrying the scent of the sea. Behind him was the darkness of the shore. Behind you were the lights of the city.

For a few seconds neither of you spoke.

You had imagined this moment too. You had prepared words, entire conversations, but none of them seemed to exist anymore.

Noah looked toward Saint Marlowe for a moment before finally looking back at you.

“This is far enough.”

You nodded.

The words caught somewhere in your throat.

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

The waves reached the shore behind you and the wind pulled strands of your hair across your face.

Noah lowered his eyes briefly before speaking.

“I want to thank you.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He let out a quiet breath, “For everything.”

You stood perfectly still.

“For changing me.”

The confession was quiet.

“The months you spent on the ship...” He shook his head slightly. “They changed me.”

He looked back at you.

“You taught me things I didn't know about myself.”

His voice remained calm, but there was something fragile beneath it.

“You helped me when I needed it, even when I didn't deserve it.”

You opened your mouth, but he continued.

“You put up with me even when I was terrible to be around.”

You frowned immediately, “You weren't.”

A small, sad smile appeared on his face, “Yes, I was.”

“Noah—”

“I was.”

The wind blew between you again.

He looked away toward the dark ocean.

“You saw me drunk. Angry. Stupid.”

“You were hurting.”

“I still made it your problem.”

You shook your head.

“It never felt like that.”

He laughed quietly, though there was very little humor in it.

“You see? You're so... you. God.”

You felt tears threatening now, though you fought them back.

Noah looked at you again.

“I just...” He swallowed. “I needed you to know that.”

His voice had become softer.

“I'm glad you ended up on our ship. I'm glad it was you.”

You couldn't speak.

“The months I spent with you..."women in alt music i love you” He looked down briefly before continuing. “I'll carry them with me for the rest of my life.”

It all felt unbearable.

Because this really was goodbye.

You stepped toward him before you could think about it, and your arms wrapped around him.

For a brief second he seemed surprised.

Then he held you.

Tightly.

Much tighter than he ever had before.

You buried your face against his shoulder.

His hand rested against the back of your head, the other against your back.

You felt him exhale softly against your hair.

“I won't ever forget you, princess.”

The words nearly broke you.

Your eyes closed, and you held him tighter.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice came out quietly. "For what it's worth..."

He remained still.

“You'll always be my only real king.”

For several seconds he didn't move.

You felt his breathing stop for just a moment.

And when he finally pulled back enough to look at you, it seemed like those words had reached a place inside him that nobody had ever touched before.

You took a step backward, then another.

“Goodbye, Noah.”

The sand shifted beneath your boots, the city lights glowing softly ahead of you, close enough now that you could almost hear distant voices carried by the wind.

Noah remained where he was, dark against the shore.

Still.

You turned and took a couple of steps. You tried to keep walking, you really did.

Because this was what you had spent days convincing yourself would happen. You would leave, would go back to your world. He would return to his.

It was sensible.

It was proper.

It was what everyone would expect.

But with every step, your chest hurt more.

You thought about the first day aboard the Specter, still pretty terrified and furious. You thought about learning to hold a sword. About standing at the bow while the wind tangled your hair. About laughing with Davis. Playing dice with Folio. Watching the stars from the deck.

You thought about jumping from the castle window.

About the shell around your neck.

About Noah teaching you how to fight.

Noah drunk and broken.

Noah laughing.

Noah standing in your doorway.

Noah kissing you.

Noah walking away.

And suddenly, through all the memories, another one appeared.

A tavern, too much alcohol, and a very drunk pirate captain.

You stopped walking.

Your breath caught.

Because months ago, he had asked you a question.

And perhaps, only now, you finally had an answer.

You turned around. Noah had not moved.

The wind pushed your hair across your face.

“Noah.”

He looked up immediately.

“Months ago, you asked me a question that I never answered.”

He frowned slightly, “What question?”

“You were drunk.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Oh no.”

You laughed despite the tears threatening your eyes.

“At your friend's tavern.”

He looked genuinely concerned now.

“You asked me if I'd like being a pirate princess.”

He stared at you.

For a second he looked absolutely horrified.

“Oh, God.”

You laughed harder.

“Your words. Exactly your words.”

“I absolutely did not say that.”

“You did.”

“I don't remember saying that.”

“You didn't remember it the next morning either.”

“I still don't.”

The wind carried your laughter between you.

For the first time that night, something eased.

Noah rubbed a hand over his face.

“That is the worst thing I've ever said.”

“No, it was actually quite sweet.”

“It sounds awful.”

“It was sweet.”

“It's worded very... weirdly.”

You smiled, “But you did ask.”

He became quiet, and his smile faded slightly from his face.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess I did.”

A few seconds passed. And then he said it.

“Because I wanted you to stay.”

You swallowed, “Do you still want that?”

His answer came immediately, “Of course I do.”

The wind moved between both of you.

You looked at him. At the man who had spent days avoiding you because he was afraid, the man who had walked you here anyway, the man who had thanked you like this was already over.

Your voice became quieter.

“Then why did you leave after you kissed me?”

“Because I didn't want you to feel trapped.”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

He looked back at the city.

“You were already going somewhere safe. You have a new life waiting for you. I didn't want...” He swallowed. “I didn't want you to stay because you felt like you had to now. Or because you thought you owed me something.”

“Noah.”

He looked back at you.

“If I stay,” you said carefully, “it would be because I want to.”

The wind caught your skirt.

“Not because a man wants me to.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“You should know me by now.”

He laughed quietly.

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So... is the offer still valid?”

He blinked.

“The pirate princess one.”

He stared at you for a second, then he laughed.

“Seriously?”

“Very serious.”

He shook his head, almost disbelieving.

“Of course it is.”

Your heart pounded.

“Yeah?”

“Obviously.”

You looked down at the bag in your hand.

The clothes.

The drawing.

Everything you had packed.

Everything you thought you were supposed to become again.

Your fingers loosened, and the bag fell into the sand.

You crossed the distance between you in a few quick steps that became almost a run. Noah barely had time to react before you reached him, your hands grabbing his coat as you pulled him down toward you.

Noah's eyes widened slightly, and then you were moving.

You kissed him. The kind of kiss that answered every question both of you had spent weeks avoiding. He laughed softly against your lips, the sound warm and almost disbelieving, and his arms wrapped around you as he kissed you back.

When you finally separated enough to breathe, both of you were smiling.

Everything disappeared, and you only felt a huge sense of relief. Because this time neither of you was pulling away. This time nobody was running.

“You're crazy.” He whispered.

A small laugh escaped you, “You knew that from the first day we met.”

Noah smiled, “Yeah.”

His thumb brushed softly against your cheek.

“I think that's why I liked you immediately.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, as if he still couldn't quite believe you were standing there, that you had turned around, that you had come back.

Then he leaned down once more and kissed you again.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

You looked at him, eyes gleaming. 

”Remind me to come on tour with you more often,” you said. 

”Gladly. May I ask why?” he grinned. 

”If these are the kinds of hotels you’re staying at these days,” you swept a hand in the general direction of the buffet. ”This is the greatest hotel breakfast I’ve ever seen!”

A few moments later you were tucking on a large selection of dishes. Scrambled eggs, pancakes, yoghurt parfait, fruit and croissants. You happily slurped your orange juice when you caught your boyfriend looking intently at your food before quickly typing something on his phone.

”…What?”

Noah tilted his head a little. 

”Just making sure.” 

”Sure of what?”

He flipped his phone around, showing you the screen. It was a google search. 

”Can pregnant women eat cantaloupe?”

”NOAH!”

He just grinned at you. You rolled your eyes and continued eating. Noah scrolled for another moment. 

”Have you started taking prenatal vitamins?”

”Have I done what?”

”Prenatal vitamins?” 

”Noah, I’ve known for ten days.”

He raised an eyebrow.

”That’s plenty of time.”

You just looked at him. 

”…Do you have any?”

”No.” 

”We’re buying prenatal vitamins today,” he informed you. ”Folic acid is very important, apparently.”

Nick made his way down to breakfast earlier than usual, coffee already on his mind. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept particularly well and could really use the caffeine. He had tossed and turned for hours, sleep evading him after leaving the two of you outside the restaurant the night before. 

As he stepped into the breakfast room he instinctively searched for Noah. He found him almost immediately. Even from his spot behind you, Nick could tell that your shoulders had dropped. You were leaning across the table, playfully swatting Noah on the arm. 

Nick watched Noah put both hands up in front of him in what seemed to be defeat. And then Noah looked up, meeting Nick's gaze from across the room. His face broke into the widest grin Nick had seen in days. ”Thank fuck,” Nick huffed as he made his way over. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to see Nick. You smiled up at him and he returned the smile. 

”You told him.”

You nodded.

”About fucking time,” he huffed. ”It was getting hard for me too.” 

Nick turned to Noah who was already on his feet. Neither of them said a word. Nick simply pulled his friend into a hug. Nick pulled away just enough to look him in the eye.

"Congratulations, man.”

Noah's face lit up.

“…Thanks.”

Once he’d sat back down again, Noah piped up. 

”Did you know she hasn’t started taking prenatal vitamins?” 

Nick's gaze reached you, sitting with your arms across your chest with brows furrowed.

”Enough with the damn vitamins, Noah!”

The morning air was crisp, the kind that made you instinctively pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself. Chicago was only just waking up. People hurried past with takeaway coffees in hand, cyclists weaving between taxis whilst dog walkers filled the sidewalks.

The city looked different today, you thought as you slipped your hand into Noah’s. 

Or maybe… you did.

Yesterday, Chicago had been little more than blurred streets and towering buildings rushing past the taxi window. On your walk it had been no more than blurred shadows at the edges of your tunnel vision. You’d been too consumed by the secret weighing on your chest to notice much else.

Today, you noticed everything.

The early morning sun reflected off the glass skyscrapers, making them shimmer against the bright blue sky. Trees and bushes were beginning to bloom. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the familiar rumble of the elevated train. You smiled to yourself.

Turns out the taxi driver had been right.

Chicago really was beautiful.

”Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Noah shrugged. 

”The guys have it covered.”

You glanced up at him. 

”You’re playing in front of ten thousand people tomorrow.”

”Yeah, but the only thing I absolutely have to do is soundcheck tomorrow,” he said. ”Besides, you know that Nick wouldn’t let me.”

Every time you crossed a street, Noah made sure that he was closest to the traffic. At one point it seemed like holding your hand wasn’t enough. Noah put his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. 

Suddenly, he stopped. You followed his gaze to your right. A pharmacy. He winked at you. 

”Noah… no. I—”

He pressed a long finger to your lips, shushing you. 

”Angel,” he said. ”I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

So that’s how you found yourself by the vitamin shelf. It was absolutely overwhelming. Noah shifted his weight onto one leg, folding one arm across his chest while the other hand came up to his chin. His thumb rested beneath his jaw as his index finger tapped thoughtfully against his lips, his brows furrowing as he studied the shelf.

”Why are there like… Twenty different kinds?” 

”I don’t know.”

He glanced up at you. 

”Would you like tablets? Gummies?”

”I don’t know.”

”These ones are organic.” 

”…Amazing.” 

He reached for a bottle, turning it over in his hands. 

”Supports healthy fetal development,” he read aloud. He nodded his head gravely. ”Sounds important.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at him. 

He carried the little bag of vitamins and a new tub of your favorite hand cream, which he had picked up almost subconsciously, out of the store with immense pride. 

”You’re such a dork.”

”Yeah,” he said, once again putting his arm around you. ”But I’m your dork.”

The Starbucks sign came into view a few blocks later. 

“Finally,” you sighed dramatically. “I’ve been thinking about their blueberry muffin all morning.” 

Noah chuckled as he held the door open for you. 

The place was busier than you expected, the line almost stretching to the entrance. The rich smell of freshly ground coffee mixed with vanilla and baked goods filled the room. You glanced at the line, and then towards the restrooms. 

“Can you order something for me? I’ll be right back.” 

“Of course.” 

Standing on your tiptoes you gave Noah a kiss on the cheek before disappearing towards the back of the coffee shop. When you returned, Noah was already waiting near the pickup counter with two paper cups in his hands and a small paper bag tucked under one arm. 

He extended one of the cups towards you with a small smile. You noticed the little tag hanging from a small sting. 

“Tea?” 

“Cutting down, remember?” 

You took it from him and tried it. It was surprisingly fruity and sweet. 

“You do realise that there is caffeine in tea too, right?” you asked as you made your way back outside. 

“...There is?” 

“Yeah. More or less, depending on the tea.” 

Noah slipped a hand down his jacket pocket, pulling his phone out. 

“Noah, no.” 

“I just…Let me check something.” 

You watched him for a moment as he frowned down at his phone, undoubtedly reading yet another article about pregnancy.

Twenty-four hours ago, you'd convinced yourself he would fall apart. That he'd panic. That he'd resent you for turning both of your lives upside down.

Instead he was googling what you could eat, how much caffeine you could have and buying prenatal vitamins like they were the most important purchase he'd ever make.

God, he was already becoming insufferably overprotective.

And yet, somehow, it made your heart ache with adoration for this man. 

Noah exhaled. 

“Okay, yeah. We’re good.” The city gradually gave way to quieter streets until you found yourselves wandering through a small park. The noise of traffic faded into the distance, replaced by birdsong and the rustling of leaves overhead. You walked in silence for a while, content just to walk hand in hand. To be together. 

“What happens now?” he asked after a while. 

“What do you mean?” “I guess there has to be some kind of… I don't know... process?” 

“You mean healthcare wise?” 

He nodded. 

“I have an appointment next week,” you informed him. “On Tuesday."

He stopped walking, turning to face you completely. 

“I’ll be there.” 

“No, Noah. You won’t.” 

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it a bit. 

“Yes I will.” 

“Noah. Babe. You’ll be in Canada.” 

“So?” 

“...So I’ll be back home. In Los Angeles. In America,” you put emphasis on the last word. “And you’ll be in Canada.” 

“We’ll cancel,” he stated simply. “I’ll get sick. I’ll lose my voice. Can’t sing.” 

You shook your head firmly. 

“No you won't. Thousands of people bought tickets,” you reasoned. “They’ve been looking forward to it for months.” 

There was something indistinguishable in his eyes. A determination that gave way to something like sadness.

“I don’t… I don’t want to miss anything,” he whispered. 

Stepping forwards, you wrapped your arms around him. He melted into you, resting his cheek on the top of your head. One of your hands found its way into the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his skin lightly with your nails. 

“I know honey… I know.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then he mumbled into your hair. 

“I’m scared you’re going to have to do too much of this without me.” 

Oh. Your sweet, sweet man. 

You leaned back a little. He avoided your gaze. 

“Noah…” you breathed. “Noah, look at me.” 

He did, and you cupped his face in your hands. 

“I won’t be. I was… I was terrified coming here. I was so scared to tell you,” you stroked one of his cheeks with your thumb. “But I’m not anymore. I know you’ll be with me every step of the way, even if that sometimes might be over the phone,” you said before placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

“You’ve made that very clear.” 

Noah rested his forehead against yours for a moment before letting out a quiet breath.

"Okay."

You smiled.

"Okay?"

He nodded.

"Okay."

As you took his hand in yours, the conversation drifted effortlessly from one completely unimportant topic to another. Music. Nick’s terrible taste in movies. Whether blueberry muffins from Starbucks really were worth the hype. 

“I don’t think they are. There’s better ones out there,” Noah argued. 

“Then why the fuck am I sharing mine with you?” you laughed. 

“Because there’s no better one right in front of us.”

It felt strangely wonderful.

To talk about nothing at all.

To talk about everything.

“Same setlist tomorrow?” you asked.

“…Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Can I request a song?” 

“No.” 

“Rude.”

“… you can request one. I’m not making any promises though.”

“Broken youth.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“I’m kidding. But I miss The Grey.” 

Noah tilted his head, lips pursed in thought as a quiet hum escaped him.

“…Maybe.” 

”Yay!” you squealed.

You couldn’t help yourself. Smiling, you reached up to pat his shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as the two of you continued walking.

You were halfway through telling him about the time in high school when you had escaped a pop quiz by climbing onto the school roof when your arm suddenly tugged backwards.

You frowned, taking another step before realising Noah was no longer walking beside you.

“…Babe?”

Turning around, you found him standing perfectly still. His eyes were fixed on the display in the window in front of him. 

Tiny knit hats. Soft, cream coloured blankets. A wooden crib. Fluffy teddy bears and a pair of the smallest socks you’ve ever seen. 

You smiled to yourself.

”…Want to go in?”

He didn’t answer right away. Peeling his eyes from the display he looked at you and shook his head slightly. 

”Okay.” 

You turned to resume walking, but once again Noah was like an anchor. 

”Maybe just for a minute?” he said in a small voice. 

”Of course, babe,” you smiled. 

A soft chime sounded above the door as you stepped inside.

The store felt quiet compared to the busy streets outside. Warm light spilled down from the ceiling lamps, bathing the room in a soft glow. Wooden shelves lined the walls, neatly stacked with folded blankets in cream, sage greens and dusty blue. Tiny knitted hats hung beside rows of impossibly small socks, while plush teddy bears sat patiently among baskets filled with pacifiers and teething rings.

Both of you stood still for a moment, just looking around. Noah's hand twitched slightly in yours.

”Do you guys need any help today?” came the soft-spoken voice of the woman behind the register.

”No,” you smiled. ”We’re just looking.”

Noah’s gaze wandered slowly from shelf to shelf. Tiny cardigans. Soft blankets. Strollers. Stuffed animals. A wall lined with baby bottles in every shape and size.

He took a tentative step forwards, hand slipping out of yours. Noah picked up a pair of tiny white socks with a pair of blueberries embroidered on them, turning them over in his hands.

“…No.”

”What?”

He held them up to you. 

”…There’s no way,” he whispered. ”They’re too small.” 

And they were. Everything in the store was too small. It was hard to believe that anyone could ever be so little. You watched your boyfriend move around the store, sometimes stopping to look at something that caught his eye. He was still holding the pair of socks. You knew Noah was a big man. That he was broad and tall, but you had gotten used to his size over the years. Something about the contrast of him and the items on display made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Your tall, broad shouldered, tattooed metal frontman of a boyfriend surrounded by impossibly small socks, shoes and onesies. You sneaked a photo of him with your phone, wanting to capture the moment forever. 

A few moments later Noah stood looking down at the socks in his hands. His thumb gently brushed over the tiny embroidered blueberries.

”I know it’s too early,” he began. ”And I don’t want to jinx anything…” 

”Let’s get the blueberry socks,” you said. ”For our Blueberry.” 

As you stepped back out onto the sidewalk, Noah glanced down at the little bag in his hand and smiled to himself.

By the time the two of you made it back to the hotel, the sun had begun its slow descent behind the Chicago skyline. You kicked your shoes off the second the hotel room door clicked shut.

”Oh my gooood,” you groaned dramatically as you fell backwards on the bed. ”My feet.” 

Noah chuckled and plopped down on the bed beside you. Without a word, you rolled onto your side and tucked yourself against him, resting your head on his chest as you hooked one leg over his. His arm came around you instinctively, his fingertips drifting lazily up and down your spine.

You let out a contented hum, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

”Worth it though,” he said.

”Mhm,” you mumbled in agreement. ”It’s been a nice day.”

”Wanna take a nap?” he asked. ”I’ve made a reservation in three hours.” 

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on his lips.

”A reservation?”

”Yeah. At this nice little Italian place I’ve wanted to try since the last time we played here,” he said. ”I think you’ll like it.” 

The restaurant was tucked away on a quiet side street, far enough from the bustle and sirens of downtown that the city noise faded as the door of the restaurant closed behind you. 

The lighting was subdued, casting soft shadows across exposed brick walls and dark wooden tables. Large shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling displayed a large selection of wine bottles. There was soft music playing from hidden speakers, the sound mixing with the gentle hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with the rich scent of cooked garlic and fresh basil. Noah gave his name and the waiter led the two of you towards a secluded table in the very back of the restaurant. 

“This is nice,” you murmured as you sat down. 

Noah smiled. 

“I thought you’d like it.” 

Everything on the menu sounded good. You flipped the pages for what had to be the sixth time. 

“This is impossible.” 

He looked up from his own menu. 

“What is?” he asked. 

“Everything sounds so good,” you groaned. 

“Can’t decide?” 

You put your menu down on the table and started to point out everything that sounded good. Noah couldn’t help but grin.

The waiter came back with your drinks, lemonade for you and a glass of wine for him. 

“Have you decided?” 

You opened your mouth to say that you needed a little more time, but Noah was quicker. 

“Yeah, we’re ready to order,” he said, winking at you. 

You were? 

“We’ll take the burrata, the arancini and the fried calamari to start…” he began. “And then we’ll take the mushroom ravioli, the cacio e pepe, the eggplant parmigiana… We’ll also do the osso buco and the lasagna… You know what? We’ll do the grilled salmon and the vodka rigatoni too.” 

The waiter quickly jotted down the order and asked if you wanted a bread basket for the table, which Noah said that you wanted. When the waiter left, you simply stared at Noah who looked impossibly pleased with himself.

“Honey…” you laughed. “We’re two people! You’ve just ordered enough food to feed a small army.” 

“Technically…” Noah leaned forwards, putting both elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands. “We’re two and a half.” 

“You’re ridiculous."

“You love it.” 

You shook your head, unable to resist smiling. 

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I really do.” 

When the dishes started coming in, you could do nothing but laugh. Noah looked a little sheepish. The waiter placed the final plate on the table before taking a step back to admire his own balancing act. 

“Can I get you anything else?” 

You looked at the table, then at Noah, then at the waiter. 

“...Another table?” 

Noah shrugged. 

“Looks perfect to me!” 

The first few bites were spent in near silence. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because every dish Noah had ordered was somehow better than the one before it. You tore off another piece of focaccia before reaching over to try the ravioli. 

“...No.” 

Noah looked up. 

“What?” 

You lifted the dish from the middle of the table, placing it as close as possible to yourself. 

“This one is mine,” you declared. 

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were sharing?” 

“We are. Just not this one.” 

He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine.”

The moment your attention drifted towards the window and the street outside, a fork entered your peripheral vision. 

“I can see you, you know,” you informed him. 

You turned back around just as he stabbed a ravioli, snatching it off your plate with a wide grin. 

“Quality control.” 

“I’ve already established that it’s good.” 

“I should probably double check though,” he winked at you. 

You glared at him as he chewed it. 

“That’s amazing.” 

“I know it is,” you stated. “...You absolute seagull.” 

He looked genuinely offended.

“Not you too!” he groaned. 

“You stole it!” 

“No,” he said. “I borrowed it.” 

“...You ate it.” 

“Ok… fair.” 

Neither of you could help but laugh. Moments later, Noah leaned back in his chair. Your eyes wandered to his hand as he lifted his wine glass to his lips, taking a sip. With long, tattooed fingers he swirled the wine in his glass. 

“You know…” he said. 

“Hmm?” 

“I guess we’re not turning the second guest room into an office after all.” 

You met his gaze. 

“We’re probably gonna need a nursery instead.” 

You smiled. 

“Yeah.” 

But then… 

“The guest bathroom still has to go though,” you deadpanned. 

“Agree. Those blue and brown tiles…” Noah began. 

“...Were definitely a choice.” you finished. 

“Criminal, truly.” 

Conversation with Noah always came so easily, drifting from one topic to another without either of you even noticing. Between bites of pasta and grilled salmon, you found yourselves talking about the house you had recently purchased. Rooms that needed painting, whether or not the garden could actually be salvaged or it needed to be completely redone. You reminded Noah of the shelf he had insisted he could hang up by himself that still hung at a questionable angle. He insisted that it was “artistically crooked”. You remained unconvinced. 

Somewhere along the way, sharing plates had turned from carefully dividing food between them into simply reaching across the table and stealing bites straight from each other's plates. Noah took the last arancini from your plate, you stole the last piece of lasagna from his. He fed you rigatoni from his own fork and even tried to suggest ordering desserts. It was effortless. Familiar. For a little while, the two of you simply existed in your own quiet little bubble. 

Noah turned the stem of his wine glass slowly between his fingers, watching the deep red liquid for a moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You looked up from your plate. 

“Of course.” 

He hesitated for a moment before looking up at you.

“When do we tell people?”

You gave him a small smile. 

“Most people wait… Usually until after week 12.” 

“Do you know what week you’re in right now?” 

“I don’t think I’ll know for sure until next week,” you explained. “But probably five or six.” 

He let out a thoughtful hum. 

“So… That means telling people, other than Nick obviously, is pretty far away…?” 

“It’s… I mean, yeah.” 

Noah nodded slowly, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. 

“Okay,” he said quietly.

And yet his eyes lingered on the table for a second too long, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass of wine absentmindedly. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. You knew him well enough to recognise it. He understood. He just didn’t like it — and didn’t want to burden you with it. 

“You’re trying very hard to look okay with that,” you acknowledged. 

A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Is that so obvious? 

“To me?” you reached across the table, dodging plates, and took his hand in yours. “Always.”

He looked down at your hands, where he was stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“It just seems very far away,” he whispered. 

“It does,” you agreed. 

"It's just… The first trimester is uncertain.” 

He looked up at you, but didn’t say anything. So you went on. 

“The risk of complications is higher early on.”

“Complications?” 

You swallowed. 

“Yeah. Like the risk of miscarriage,” you said gently. “A lot of people wait until around twelve weeks to tell family and friends because the risk of those kinds of complications decreases significantly in the second trimester.” 

Noah was quiet for a moment. 

“... I didn’t know that.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. Noah stared down at the table for a long moment. His thumb traced slow circles across the back of your hand before his fingers absentmindedly intertwined with yours. Your gaze drifted to the familiar mandala covering the back of his hand. You'd traced those lines countless times over the years, sometimes while watching television, sometimes lying in bed, sometimes without even realising you were doing it. For the first time in years, you really thought about the hand in yours. Not because it had changed. But because it would one day hold someone else as gently as it held you. 

“Could we… Could we at least tell the guys?” Noah asked hesitantly. 

“The guys?” 

“Just the band,” he clarified. “And Nick already knows. So just Jolly and Folio.” 

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. There was a quiet, pleading look in his eyes. And you knew exactly why. Not because he couldn’t keep a secret, but because they were his family. And if something were to happen, he’d need them to know why he was falling apart. 

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll tell them tomorrow.” 

“Together?” he asked.

“Together,” you confirmed. 

Noah smiled. A genuine smile that softened his features, finally erasing the tiny crease between his eyebrows. 

“They’re gonna lose their minds,” Noah stated simply. 

You couldn’t help but let out a high pitched laugh. 

“Yeah. They will.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, still holding your hand in his. 

“I can’t wait to tell Jolly and Folio,” he said, pride etched in every line of his face. 

He laughed quietly to himself, almost shaking his head. 

“I can’t wait to tell them that I’m going to be a dad.”

---