silentglassbreak

The car came to a stop in front of the apartment building, Noah and Fallon stumbled out. Noah’s hand stayed low on Fallon’s back the whole walk to her front door, his thumb stroking small circles that promised more. Fallon fumbled with her keys, laughing breathlessly when Noah pressed up behind her and mouthed at the side of her neck. The door finally swung open and they staggered inside. She pulled away to slip off her jacket. Fallon caught Noah watching her as she placed it down, simply admiring, and her chest fluttered. 

He reached for her again, slower this time, cupping her face between his hands. Every kiss grew deeper, lips parting, the occasional hitch of breath when a hand brushed somewhere sensitive.

Fallon pulled away and led him to her bedroom. They moved, breathless and desperate, through the hallway.

“Don’t have a condom,” Noah muttered against her lips.

“S’okay I’m on the pill.”

“So responsible,” he quipped.

Fallon smiled into the kiss as she felt blindly for the lightswitch in her bedroom. 

The bed met the backs of her legs. Noah eased her down, kneeling with one knee between her thighs. He kissed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, pausing to suck gently at the pulse point that made her arch. His hands traveled up her stomach over the lace fabric of her corset top. He toyed with the zipper in the center between his fingers.

“Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Fallon sighed. 

Noah pulled the zipper down her chest. She propped herself up on her elbows, allowing him to slip it from beneath her before tossing it to the floor. His hand found her breast, thumb circling the stiff peak before he lowered his mouth to draw it between his lips. Fallon’s fingers threaded through his hair, holding him there while her other hand roamed down his back, nails tracing light lines that made him shiver. She reached the hem of his shirt and tugged, prompting him to pull it over his head. Fallon’s eyes studied the ink that covered him from his jaw to where it disappeared beneath his belt.

Noah captured her lips in a kiss again, before they traveled lower to the soft skin beneath her breasts, the dip of her navel, the sensitive spot just above her hip. His fingers worked quickly, unbuttoning her jeans and tugging them over her hips. Fallon’s jeans got caught on her ankles and she kicked her feet. Their eyes met and she giggled, vulnerable and carefree at the same time. Noah laughed softly as he helped pull them off.

His hands traveled up the smooth skin of her legs, settling on her waist. He spread her legs, catching Fallon’s eyes as he pressed kisses to the soft skin of her thighs, inching closer to where she wanted to feel him most. Noah looked up at her through his lashes as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lace covered clit.

Fallon threw her head back in ecstasy at the sight alone. He rubbed soothing patterns on her thighs as he continued to nip and tease. 

“Noah…” she spoke, barely a whisper, as she tangled a hand in his soft brown hair.

He responded by hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties, slipping them down her legs at a devastatingly slow pace. After removing them he rose to his knees, and leaned over her now bare body, placing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I want to take my time with you.”

He sat back on his heels once again, pulling Fallon’s hips closer to the edge of the mattress. He dragged his tongue up her center to her clit. Slowly. Tentatively. Her hips jutted forward in response, telling him everything he needed to know. She wanted this, desperately. 

Noah’s lips closed around her clit, sucking and licking in a steady pattern, pulling sweet sighs from her lips. He savored the velvet feel of her on his tongue, the sharp tugs of his hair when he touched her just right. Fallon pulled her knees closer to her chest, opening up for him, desperate to feel more. He brought two fingers to her entrance, circling them gently through the wetness that had collected. 

He pushed two fingers inside her, his tongue still working fervently at her clit, and she cried out in pleasure at the new fullness. Noah worked his fingers in and out of her slowly, curling them ever so slightly when his knuckles kept him from filling her more. Fallon’s heart raced, her breathing quick and shallow as the pleasure surged her towards release.

The sight of her squirming and whining under his touch had Noah palming himself through his jeans. Fallon came with a broken cry, biting the back of her hand to muffle the sound. All he wanted to do was swallow the pretty sounds as he was buried deep inside her. Fallon rose to her knees after catching her breath. Noah sat stunned, pupils blown and lips parted, taking in the picture before him.

“Get up here,” Fallon panted.

“Huh?”

“Come on,” she answered impatiently.

Noah stood and she reached for him immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him urgently, tasting herself on his tongue. Her hands traveled down his toned chest until they reached his belt, unfastening it without ever breaking the kiss. He helped her as she fumbled with the button of his jeans, unzipping them and tugging them down his hips. Fallon inched back on the bed. Noah followed til he leaned over her, weight braced on his forearms that framed her head where it laid on the pillows.

She pulled away just long enough to whisper against his lips. “I want you.”

“More than anything,” he confessed.

Noah reached a hand between their bodies. Fallon’s breath hitched, feeling the tip nudge her entrance, sensitive and soaked from his previous ministrations. He pushed inside her slowly, stretching her inch by inch, giving her time to adjust to his size. Fallon’s jaw dropped, broken moans left her mouth as Noah filled her completely, his hips pressed to hers.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Noah groaned, gently rocking his hips into hers, “you’re fucking perfect.”

Fallon gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as he began to thrust into her. Noah moved with long, rolling thrusts that rocked the bed in a steady rhythm. Each stroke dragged over every sensitive spot, pulling soft whimpers from her. He ran his hand gently up the side of her cheek, tangling his fingers in her hair as he met her emerald eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers as he increased his pace, a deep hum escaping at the feeling of her gripping him tighter.

Fallon called out his name like a desperate plea. He hooked an arm under one of her knees, allowing him to fill her deeper. She tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck, her tongue tracing patterns over the snake that coiled across his throat. Noah held her thigh with a bruising grip, his other hand fisting tightly where it rested beside her head. He left open mouth kisses on her collar bone, trailing up til he claimed her mouth. Slow. Deep. Full of everything he felt. Heat began to build low in her belly. 

“Fuck I’m close, Fal,” he groaned agaisnt her lips.

Fallon wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, his hand releasing her leg to gently grasp her jaw, pulling her lips to his. She felt herself dissolve into pure sensation, the world narrowing to the pulse of her own heartbeat between her thighs. He never broke the kiss, devouring her moans as she came around his cock.

His rhythm faltered as she clenched around him. He groaned deep and raw with need as she locked her legs tighter, dragging him in as deep as he could go. One more thrust and he came with a ragged moan, spilling hot inside her.

They stayed locked together afterward, foreheads pressed, fingers threaded tight. Noah reached for Fallon’s hand, threading his fingers with hers and squeezing gently, neither of them willing to let go. 

________________________

Fallon lay curled against Noah, her head resting against his chest as his fingers traced absentminded patterns over the tattoos scattered across her arm. His touch was gentle, almost curious, following the lines of a moth near her shoulder before moving toward the smaller pieces along her forearm.

"How many of these do you have?" he asked quietly.

"Honestly? I've lost count."

He grinned. "That many?"

She lifted her head slightly to look at him. "You have a lot too, a lot more than me."

"Yeah, but mine are mostly an excuse to avoid having empty skin."

Fallon chuckled softly and settled back against him.

His fingers paused over one of the smaller tattoos. "What's this one?"

"That one?" She glanced down. "Friday the 13th flash sale."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

He shook his head, smiling. "I thought there'd be some profound story."

The room fell quiet again. Eventually, Fallon shifted beneath the blankets. "I need water."

"Yeah. Me too."

They dressed quietly, neither quite knowing what to say as the reality of the night began creeping back in around the edges. Fallon led him down the short hallway toward the kitchen, flicking on the light as they entered.

Noah stopped in the doorway and looked around slowly.

The familiar bookshelf. The collection of vinyl records on the wall, the cat padding quietly through the room. The same apartment he'd spent countless Tuesdays seeing in pieces through a computer screen.

His lips curled ever so slightly.

"This is weird."

Fallon glanced over her shoulder. "What?"

"It feels like I've been here before."

She paused.

"I've seen this place so many times." He gestured around. "The vinyls, the purple curtains, your dead plant."

"Hey, it's in recovery," she laughed.

She handed him a glass of water, watching him take a drink. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The joke had brought some lightness back into the room, but beneath it was something neither of them could ignore anymore. Noah had finally stepped into the world he'd spent nearly two years seeing through a screen, and tonight, they'd crossed into something neither of them could pretend was part of therapy.

Fallon took a long drink of her water. 

"So..." She glanced at him, setting her glass down. "I guess we'll need to talk about... you know." She gestured vaguely between the two of them.

Noah raised an eyebrow. "C'mon. Don't go all therapist on me already."

He opened his arms and she melted into him.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm serious."

"I know." His smile faded slightly as he leaned them back against the counter. "I know."

The silence returned for a moment.

Fallon nuzzled her head into his chest. "This is... complicated."

"Yeah."

"Really complicated."

"Extremely."

"But..." She glanced up at him, a smirk tugging at her lips, "I guess I’m obligated to ask, how did that make you feel?"

Noah stared at her for a beat before breaking into a laugh. "Seriously?"

Fallon shrugged innocently, "It's a perfectly reasonable question."

"You're terrible." He shook his head and grinned, resting his chin on her head. "Let’s just say it made me feel really fuckin’ good."

The alcohol had settled into a slight buzz by the time they climbed back into bed. Fallon curled against Noah, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her. The Plot in You played softly from her record player, a song they both knew well, filling the otherwise quiet room.

For a moment, Fallon simply let herself exist there. His warmth surrounded her, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her arm. It felt strangely natural, despite how impossible the night had been.

A soft weight landed against Noah's legs. Fallon lifted her head to find her cat settling comfortably into his lap, deciding he'd found a new favorite person.

Noah looked down at him, "Well, I guess I've been accepted."

Fallon smiled sleepily and tucked herself closer into his arms.

Author's Note: DON"T EVER SAY I DON'T KEEP Y'ALL FED!!! We've arrived to the smut!!!! You guys ARE NOT READY for the rest of this story I'm so hyped XOXO Lila

Noah’s favorite part of the week is the time he gets to spend with you. You’re his favorite person, his sun in which his version of the world revolves around. He truly looks forward to it, counting down the very seconds until he’s in your apartment, watching you breathe, exist. 

Right now is one of those precious moments. You’re doing your daily chores after a long day of work and Noah is simply observing. You’ve cleaned the kitchen and the living room, putting everything back in its perfect place. Your favorite blanket—which is pink and fluffy—is folded neatly and slung over the worn-out couch. Your shoes are all in place by the front door. The leftovers of the pasta you whipped up are in containers and stacked on a shelf in the fridge. 

Noah knows just how much you like your apartment clean and organized and because of that, he wouldn’t dare disrupt your routine. So he’s been patiently waiting in your bedroom. 

You hum a soft, unrecognizable tune that swirls in Noah’s ears louder and louder as you get closer to the room. When you step through the threshold, his throat immediately burns with want. You’re wearing pajama shorts that barely cover your ass and you’ve tucked a tanktop into them which is pushing your breasts together, nipples poking through the thin fabric. An oversized hoodie is only zipped up to your belly button and it falls off your shoulder since you don’t care to keep it on right. In your hands is a basket full of laundry and the smell of clean chemicals stings his nostrils, distracting him from your perfect scent.

He leans against the wall, masked by the shadows so that there’s no way you’ll see him until he wants you to. You plop the basket on your bed and begin folding idly, creating little piles in your own system of organization. When you reach in and retrieve a pair of panties—a black thong with intricate lace detailing—Noah’s composure goes out the window. 

The feral, uncontrollable groan that escapes from his lips is a setback. He was supposed to stay hidden until he could catch you off guard but he never has been good at self-control. 

You whip around, eyes wide and skin pale as you search for the source of the noise. He steps out of the darkness, hands tucked in his pockets leisurely with a lazy smile tugging at his lips, fangs on full display. His eyes are completely black as his pupils swallow them whole. He looks otherworldly, terrifying. He can hear the rapid increase in your heartbeat, the way it spikes with intrigue and pure fear. It excites him, makes this far more fun. 

“Hi, sweet thing,” he purrs. 

A blood curdling scream rips from your throat as you jump, scrambling closer to the bed and as far away from him as possible. The commotion causes your laundry basket to topple onto the floor. Your scent has gone sour but it’s still so enticing to Noah. 

“How did you get in here?” You ask, eyes frantically searching the room. Your window is closed, blinds drawn tightly shut like always. 

“The same way I always do.” It’s nonchalant and not a real answer at all. 

The hair on your arms stands straight as goosebumps line them. You stumble backwards to create even more space. The sheets bundle and the clothes you just folded are now crumpled underneath you. 

He’s standing completely still, hasn’t moved a muscle or an inch closer to you. His chest doesn’t heave with breath and his eyes are unblinking. He’s an intricate marble statue disguised as a man. 

He’s the deadliest predator and you’re the perfect prey.

“Do I know you?” Your voice wavers. 

At this, he’s offended. He finally moves, putting a hand to his unbeating heart to show just how much you’ve wounded him. 

“That hurts, sweet thing,” he pouts. “Of course you do.”

You squint, clearly racking your brain for why his face looks so familiar. When it finally dawns on you, realization makes your eyes widen and your mouth hang open as you make a noise of recognition. “The bar. Bad Omens, right?”

Noah nods, sliding his hand back into his pocket. “That’s right.”

His clan runs the place. Although, he doesn’t bother himself with that part of it since he isn’t interested in maintaining a façade for the enjoyment of humans. 

He often finds his next victims there, spending hours watching them before going in for the kill. He learns their mannerisms, soaking in exactly how their bodies move when they speak, laugh, or even breathe—every action sluggish and lazy from the alcohol in their veins. He imagines the way they’ll struggle or scream for help. And then he chooses, picking the most helpless of the bunch, the one that will cry the hardest. 

He's a sadist in that way, inflicting the most pain in the shortest amount of time, just to give the poor human one last adrenaline rush, one last real moment of living before ripping it away from them. It’s out of the kindness of his heart. He could be fast, sure, but where’s the fun in that? He likes to play with his food and really savor the kill. Plus, their blood tastes better to him when they’re scared.

“Are you a regular?” You ask. “I feel like I’ve seen you there a lot.”

He chuckles, a low continuous rumble where his body should move with the sound. “My friend owns the place.”

“Oh, Jolly?” Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

The muscles in his jaw tick—a real, human-like movement—when that name rolls off your tongue. 

Jolly is a product of Noah’s venom—just like the rest of the clan. He made them all out of selflessness, claiming he wanted to give them purpose, save them from the monotony of human life. In the vampire world, he owns Jolly, owns all of them. Folio, Nicholas, Matt, Davis. 

And this? You knowing his name, saying it so casually? It’s a slap in the face, a betrayal. 

Possessiveness is a bitch. And when it comes to you, he’s not willing to have any one of his men entertain even an inkling of a chance. Now that he knows there’s some familiarity between you and Jolly, he’s going to be sure to put a stop to it.

“We’re friends,” he grits out between clenched teeth. 

“Did he send you here?” You’re trying to seem calm and appreciative, but your heartbeat is betraying you. It hasn’t slowed down at all. “I told him I wouldn’t be there this week. It’s really nice of you to check on me but you could have just knocked.” 

“Do you even know my name?” He asks, completely ignoring your words and cocking his head to the side in a challenge. 

You’re his girl. He has dedicated every moment to you. How could you not know something as simple as his name? 

You blink. “Have you told it to me before?” 

This would make his blood boil if it was still pumped through his body. Instead, it only ignites the fuel in his chest, creating an inextinguishable fire and melting away any semblance of his mortal self. His lips curl higher into a mischievous grin. You shiver at the sight, unsettled, but it only makes him smile wider, showing off his fangs even more as they glisten in the low light. 

“I’m sure I have.”

Adrenaline rushes through you and smells salty. He can practically guess the way it’ll mix with your sweetness when he finally gets a taste.

“I’m sorry.” Your words tumble out quickly. “I must have forgotten. Can you remind me?” 

Noah clicks his tongue and takes another step forward. His strides are long, as if he’s merely floating over to you. Your eyes flick down to his boots, confusion taking over your face at his sheer speed. You’re desperately trying to get away but the moment your back hits the headboard, you wince, knowing there’s nowhere else to go. Curling inward, you wrap your arms around yourself as if they are a good enough shield. 

Noah crawls onto the bed with feline-like movements. “Oh sweet thing,” he purrs. “I’m going to make sure you never forget it again.” 

A terrified whimper escapes you and it sends a rush through Noah as if you’re a drug he can’t quite get enough of. You use his stunned expression to your advantage and roll on your side, attempting to get off the bed and be closer to the door. 

He knows what you’re going to do long before you do it, reaching out to grab your leg and pull you toward him effortlessly, like you weigh nothing at all. Scrambling for any sort of leverage, you kick wildly. Noah growls in frustration, digging his claw-like nails into your ankle. You yelp, kicking one last time with all your might. It lands, hitting Noah in the chest. It doesn’t hurt him at all because his body feels as if it’s made of steel, not flesh and muscle, but he does let go of you for the smallest second to readjust. 

Your thrashing is more of a harm to you than to Noah and the miscalculation causes you to drop to the floor and slam your head against the hardwood. This would have been the perfect moment to flee, to run out of the room and find anything to help defend yourself against him. Instead, you’re dazed, room spinning as you attempt to pick up your head and focus your vision forward. 

Noah slowly steps off the bed and bends down to your level, cocking his head to the side. He moves so much like a big cat, all fluid and inhuman. He blinks curiously as he observes the state you’re in. 

“Why did you do that?” He questions in a monotone drawl. 

“Get away from me!” You cry, words slurring and voice small, as you struggle to sit up. A shaky hand instinctively goes to the back of your head and you whine at the connection of skin to raw flesh. 

The moment you realize you’re injured is the exact second Noah smells your blood. He hisses, reacting on nothing but instinct. The sound is visceral, echoing through the entire room. 

Your blood is the best thing Noah has ever had the privilege of experiencing. He has your scent memorized—freshly picked strawberries and cashmere mixed with your natural musk that creates something sweet and clean—from all the times you’ve passed him in the club and from taking your clothes for his personal stash. But this is different. It’s burning his nostrils, making his throat close with want. His teeth ache, gums throbbing. He’s completely consumed by it, by you. 

Blood is pouring down from the gash on your head and trailing down your neck, pooling in the dips of your collar bones. Pressing your fingers into the wound for any hope of stopping the flow is useless. 

“Please,” you whisper in a disoriented mumble. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He knows that to you, it isn’t. But that's okay. You're still learning. “I want you, sweet thing.”

“Me?” You repeat. “Why?”

Noah stands up straight, towering over you. You look up at him through your eyelashes, pupils blown wide and tears swimming in them. It’s a beautiful sight, one he hopes to remember for centuries. 

“When we first met at the bar, I thought it was an accident,” he muses. “I wasn’t sure why a sweet thing like you would go to a dingy place like that. But you just kept showing up. And I knew there had to be a reason.”

“Jolly's nice,” you explain innocently. “And all the other bars in town are much worse.”

Noah hums in agreement, pointing a long, boney finger at you. “Exactly. You felt drawn to it. But why? Then it dawned on me. You liked me, wanted to see more of me.”

You bristle as if that simply can’t be true. But Noah knows it is and he continues to explain himself.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away, knew you felt the same connection I did. Who am I to deny you what you want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you cry.

“Ah,” he exclaims, leaning back over to touch his pointed finger against your temple harshly, pressing it in. He bends unnaturally, dropping his hand to make room for his face until his cheek is pressed up against yours. 

“You're obsessed with me,” He purrs. “But that's okay, sweet thing. The feeling is mutual.” 

Your eyes become the size of saucers and you rapidly shake your head, feet scrambling against the floor in yet another desperate attempt to create space between the two of you. Blood mattes your hair, splatters into the comforter beside you, and creates a puddle at your feet. You're losing it fast. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, sitting up and grabbing you roughly by the neck, collaring you with a tattooed hand and a punishing grip. 

Noah knows the answer. You're so overwhelmed by the interaction, by him, that you’re not thinking clearly. Surely, you aren't trying to get away? Not after he's pointed out that you both want the same things? 

“Please,” you whimper. 

He's so close, nose bumping against yours. His is so pointed and perfect, mimicking the same sharpness as his jaw—and his teeth. 

“Please what, sweet thing? What do you want? You can tell me. I'll listen.” 

“Don't hurt me.” A tiny plea that is so pathetic he almost coos at you as if you’re a baby he’s trying to soothe. 

Instead, he leans back, offended once again. 

“I'm here for quite the opposite,” he promises. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You…you do?” You sniffle. Noah can smell the way a modicum of your fear disappears, leaving a trail of strawberries in its wake. 

He nods, forcing his expression to be softer, more believable, even though he's still holding onto your throat. He’s doing a great job controlling himself but his eyes continue to dart down to stripes of blood that mare your skin. 

He’s been so patient but he doesn’t want to wait anymore. You're weak, increasingly affected by the blood loss, and desperate to please him. He knows you want him and he’s so charitable that he’s willing to give in.

“I do,” he repeats. “Does your head hurt?”

He knows it does and that fire in his chest licks against his skin when you nod. 

“I can take away your pain, sweet thing. Will you let me?”

That’s not all he’s going to do but it’s the start of his plan, at least.

Being able to thrall someone is not something every vampire can do. Noah is a maker, gifted with more than just an insatiable hunger and immense physical power. He’s a rare breed, one of only three in existence. It’s yet another thing that fuels his ego. 

The rest of his clan are all of special status too—a product of being made from Noah’s venom. The most notable are Folio’s shadow manipulation and Matt’s mimic—or shapeshifting—capabilities. 

Noah’s strong handle on his thrall is deadly. He has spent the majority of his vampire life honing it in and perfecting the way he tangles himself into his victim’s mind. 

The hesitation on your face would be sobering to anyone else but to Noah? It’s an added layer of fun you so graciously give him. After a single beat of silence, you finally nod—your chin barely dipping down in agreement. 

It’s all the confirmation he needs. He removes his hand from your neck, earning a gasp of relief as you struggle for air, and instead, puts both of them on your cheeks to keep you steady. He’s sure you haven’t noticed but you’ve started to sway lightly—an inevitable result of the blood loss, adrenaline rush, and pure terror you’ve experienced in such a short time. Humans are so fragile. 

Noah looks directly into your eyes—endless black meets glass—and the moment you focus on him, he pushes. Not physically, no, this is something that goes beyond that. It feels as if his mind, his very essence, is stepping inside of you one limb at a time. 

“Just let it happen,” he coos, voice as soft as silk, like the prettiest piano melody you’ve ever heard. It’s warming, inviting. “Let the pain wash away. Let yourself go.”

There’s a second where you struggle, where your body thrashes violently against his hold. But it’s over so quick, as if you never did it at all. 

He feels the moment you give in, the moment your mind blanks. It’s not necessarily a surprise to him but it’s still a satisfying rush when the only thing echoing in your mind is how much you want him. 

He smiles wide and pulls back, admiring his work. Vampires usually need some sort of continuous contact to thrall but Noah’s power is beyond something that simple. He could walk away, leave you there for days, and you’d still be under his control until he finally gets bored and lets go of his hold on your mind. With you though? The chances of that are slim.

Your eyes turn completely milky white and your mouth hangs up, as if you need Noah’s permission to breathe. 

“What a good girl,” he praises. “Do you feel any more pain?”

“No.” Your body sits completely still on the floor. No more panic, no more struggling. 

“And what do you say to me for helping you?”

“Thank you.” Your words are automatic.

The thrall is mostly used to force the truth from someone but Noah makes his victims puppets on strings instead, putting on a marionette show for himself. 

“Not good enough,” he growls. “Thank you, what?”

“Thank you, master.” 

“That’s better,” he hums, looking down at his hands for a moment. They’re stained red, mixing with the colors of his tattoos and giving them a tint he’s used to. Without hesitation, he lifts one to his mouth and holds out his tongue, dragging a finger down it to get a taste before closing his lips around it and savoring every last drop. 

His body shudders as it coats his throat. 

You watch, unaffected by the scene simply because he doesn’t care to control you when he’s busy tasting you. When he’s finally done, his eyes flick back up to meet yours.

“I want more, sweet thing,” he states. “What else can you do for me?”

The possibilities are absolutely endless but he has his mind set on particular things tonight. He effortlessly pushes the thoughts into your mind, just so no one has to work for them. 

“Let me please you,” you offer. “Use me.”

He lets out a satisfied hum as if you thought of such things on your own, as if he’s proud of you for giving yourself to him. 

“Since you sound so pretty…” 

At lightning speed, he wraps a hand around your hair and yanks, pulling you off your feet. They hover just inches off the ground. Blood immediately clings to the long digits curling around damp strands. 

You don’t fight him. You simply watch, mesmerized as he plops you onto the bed with so much force that the legs give out and the frame collides with the floor in an echoing boom. He’s been so gentle with you, barely using a small percentage of his real strength, but there’s no reason for that now. You belong to him and he can be as rough as he wants. Noah stalks over your body, covering you completely with his broad shoulders and wide, muscular frame. He’s massive, strong, and you’re so frail. He can’t wait to break you.

With a smirk and without lifting a finger, he releases the hold on your mind by a tiny fraction, just enough to make you aware of the rising desire in your chest. A whimper escapes you as you try to clench your thighs together, desperate for friction.

Noah tuts, reaching a hand down to push them apart roughly. Your knees bend and hit the bed, spreading your legs as wide as they’ll go. The sweetness of your blood mixes with the headiness of your slick and it drives Noah mad, causing him to dig his nails into your skin, puncturing it with ease.

While he’s made you slightly more lucid, he’s still keeping a firm grip on your pain receptors. You look down, watch as blood slowly drips down your leg, and smile lazily at him.

“Do you want another taste?” You ask innocently. 

“How sweet of you to ask,” he murmurs, already bending down and pressing his cheek against your inner thigh. “But I don’t need your permission.” 

His tongue darts out, catching the droplets that have begun to gather and licking all the way to the wound. Once there’s nothing but a slight red tint on your skin, he presses a kiss to injury. His lips hover before he strikes. No hesitation, no moment to let the remnants of your brain catch up. He sinks his fangs in and they pierce through your skin so easily, like you were made to tear and rip apart for him. A desperate slurping sound and tiny whimpers are all that can be heard. You wrap your hands in his hair, tugging at the pieces that curl at the base of his neck by his ears—not because you want him to stop. No. Because it feels so good.

Your pleasure is amplified by the thrall but there’s nothing as numbing and consuming as a maker’s venom. He isn’t going to turn you into a vmpire—at least not yet—but he has already shown that he has no problem toying with your mind. 

When the taste of your blood weakens, signaling he could be seconds away from killing you, he reluctantly pulls off, catching your eyes. Dark red gathers on his plump and pink bottom lip before dribbling down his jaw and onto his neck. He looks otherworldly and you should be terrified. But you’re not. 

Your smile widens and you sit up, gently using your grip on his hair to guide his face towards you. He gives in, knows what you’re attempting. Stained red lips crash into yours, fangs scraping, tongues searching. Saliva and blood mix into your mouth and you swallow hard, desperately trying to keep up with Noah’s movements. He has you distracted and it’s useful. Snaking a hand around your neck, he presses two fingers into the gash on the back of your head. It reopens, skin giving way, and blood coats his fingers.

He doesn’t break the kiss as he removes his hand and drags it down your body. He starts at your neck, creating patterns—rune like shapes—before stopping at the top of your shirt. He yanks it down, traces a finger around your hardened nipples, and leaves the sensitive buds coated red. Your shirt tears as he rips the tucked hem out of your pajama shorts. He wants you naked, bare to him in every way. The remaining pieces of fabric give way and fall in ribbons around you. Your hips lift as if you know what’s coming next and he pulls your shorts, and your panties, down your thighs, off your ankles, and into some other part of the room. 

Only then, when the warm air of the room contrasts with Noah’s cold frame against your body, does he pull away from your lips. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he states plainly. “And when I’m done, you’re going to be ruined. No one else will ever fucking matter.” 

“Please, master,” you breathe, wiggling impatiently. 

Noah’s left hand goes to your stomach, palm pressing down firmly to keep you in place. The other trails down your inner thigh tantalizingly slow—the very epitome of playing with his food. 

You cry softly, bucking your hips and twisting your body to get closer to the release you crave. Noah growls, tightening his hold on you and pressing you down into the mattress. “Stay still.” 

The words echo in your head, causing your entire body to freeze, muscles and joints locking into place. 

He smiles triumphantly, deciding you need a reward for listening so well. A blood soaked fingers teases you, trailing up and down your folds to slowly coax them open. When they part, just how wet you are makes itself evident to him. Noah breathes a slow inhale, really savoring the smell. You are everywhere, so potent and mind numbing that the rest of his composure is gone in seconds.

He grunts, pushing the finger through and coating your insides with your own blood. Arousal mixes with it, painting your inner thighs in a light pink mixture. It’s not enough for either of you so he pushes two more digits in without any more preparation. 

Your muscles give way for him, stretching to ensure there’s enough room for not only his fingers, but whatever else he so generously gives you. 

The whine you let out is utterly pathetic—a tiny little mewl of pleasure. 

“This is all it takes?” He asks, eyes flicking back up to trail over your face—your furrowed eyebrows, squeezed shut eyes, pouty lips. “Three fingers and you’re already this close?”

He begins moving his fingers, pumping them in and out of you with vigor. All you do is whine again. 

“Did you know that I can tell exactly what you’re feeling?” It’s a rhetorical question. He wants to explain it to you anyway. “I can smell that you’re still scared because it’s souring the sweetness of your blood. And I can smell how much you want me, how turned on this makes you. Is that right?”

“Yes. And I want your cock,” you answer quickly, words tumbling out of your mouth as you open your eyes to look into his.

“Oh I know you do,” he purrs. “But have you earned it?”

“I have! Please!”

You don’t have to beg him. He’s already giving you what you want, pulling his fingers out of your dripping cunt. He leans up to press them into your mouth, pushing past your lips.

“Suck,” he orders. 

You listen, wrapping your lips around them and sucking hard, tongue swirling to coat every inch. You can taste yourself in every way—your arousal, blood, and saliva all in one. 

While you’re preoccupied, Noah peels off his clothes. 

You’re not completely lucid, still under his thrall as much as he wants you to be, but there are things about vampires that are far too complicated for the human mind to comprehend. What runs through his veins isn’t blood. It’s venom. He was a human man once, knew all about blood rushing to his dick. The simplest explanation for what causes such action now is magic. It’s the same power that allows him to use the thrall or makes Matt able to shapeshift. He doesn’t care to know the specifics. He just knows that this amount of arousal, of obsession, is enough for his cock to strain against his jeans. 

He reaches behind and yanks his shirt off in one fluid motion. Your eyes drop down to his defined chest. Tattoos start on his neck and cover all the way down to his fingers. Large scars start just under his collarbones and trace all the way down his torso, stopping at his waist. They look like they were once angry but now they’re faint, white, and rigid. A result of the incident that killed him. When he was turned, the scars and tattoos remained. He doesn’t mind them. Next, he finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth to unbutton his jeans and discard them along with his underwear. While he was far less gentle with you, he certainly is not going to tear up his own clothes. 

He stands over you, body just as bare as your own. Pale skin, darkened eyes, tousled brown hair. He’s dropdead gorgeous, perfect in every way. 

Your eyes move down until they land on his cock. It’s just as ivory white as the rest of him, average in size but quite thick, girthier than any human’s. 

Noah tilts his head to the side, taking in how mesmerized you look. 

“I’m going to give you what you want, sweet thing.” 

It’s a statement, not something he wants you to react to, but you nod enthusiastically. Noah hovers over you again, gripping his length to line it up with your throbbing pussy. When he pushes in, everything clicks into place. You clench around him in reaction as your eyes widen and the rest of the world falls away. 

This is what he has been waiting for, what every endless second has been counting towards. 

You’re the very reason he was turned into a vampire, the very reason he has chosen to stay in this shitty town. And now, with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, you’re finally his. You have no other purpose. It’s Noah’s pleasure or nothing else. He’ll kill you, drain you of every last drop in those pretty little veins, before ever letting you amount to something that doesn’t pertain to him. 

“Noah,” you cry out in pleasure, arching your back up to feel as full as possible. 

His eyes flash with approval as you say his name. 

“So you do know my name,” he says in a grunt, thrusting inside of you with each word. 

It’s sloppy, not calculated the way every other action of his has been. He worked for it and now that it’s here, he doesn’t care. There’s no need to pay attention to details when the world is bleeding into his mind, vision tunneling until there’s nothing but you. You underneath him, covered in your own blood and juices, mind tangled in his grip. 

“I think I always have,” you respond. “Have we done this before?” 

He stills, not realizing how much control he had given you back. Another miscalculation to add to the long list. He really does lose his composure around you. 

He thinks for a moment, wracking his brain to decide what all to tell you. Hunching forward to deepen his thrust, he reaches for you, wrapping a hand around your throat again. You smile and give him a happy sigh that says I love this. He squeezes but not nearly as rough and angry as last night. 

“We have,” he admits. “But you don’t remember.”

Your brows furrow. You’re in such bliss, body shaking and insides twitching with want. But it doesn’t stop you from soaking in his words. 

“Do you make me forget?” You ask softly. 

Noah nods, swallows hard. “I do.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your throat with a sigh, trailing his fingers up your bare neck. He grips your chin and tilts your head, forcing you to look into the room and away from him. Just below your ear, always hidden by your hair, is an old scar in the exact shape of Noah’s teeth, fang punctures obvious and exaggerated by the lingering angry red skin. He leans down to kiss it gently. 

“Because it’s much more fun to relive this over and over again.”

Theo stays glued to your side, her small hand swallowed in yours, your grip tighter than you meant it to be. You can’t help it. The crowd is a living thing, it’s loud, shifting, unpredictable, and the last place you ever wanted to lose her was in the chaos of a concert. The thought alone makes your stomach drop. You picture Noah shouting her name into a panicked crowd, security scrambling, people screaming, and your pulse spikes hard enough to make you dizzy.

You look down at Theo. She’s already craning her neck, trying to see past the wall of bodies. That’s enough to send your anxiety over the edge. You scoop her up without a second thought, holding her tight against you.

“Mommy, you’re squishing my sign!” she yells directly into your ear. Her voice is swallowed instantly by the music

You weave closer to the front of the line where people are asking for your tickets. Jolly never gave you tickets and what were you going to say? ‘I’m dating the lead singer?’ Sure that’s believable.

you can’t catch your breath, each step vibrating through your legs as the stage lights flare with flames and smoke.

Bryan was supposed to be watching for you both. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know your face by heart but kept picturing the photo Jolly had showed him. Five year old and her mom… can’t be too hard…how many five year olds could possibly be at the show?

“Mommy, it’s so loud!” Theo whines, burying her face in your shoulder.

You set her down for just a moment and move from the line to not block people from going in. You crouch down so you’re eye-level. “Theo, do not move from this spot.” You make your voice firm, louder than usual, hoping she can hear the seriousness even through the noise.

She nods quickly and clings to your leg. You dig through the bag with frantic fingers until you find her headphones. You fit them over her ears, adjusting them until they sit snugly. She gives you a thumbs-up, her universal sign for I’m okay and reaches for you again. You tuck her against your side, her sign pressed awkwardly between you both.

You’re panicking how were you supposed to get to where you needed to be. Just as that thought crosses your mind, a man steps directly into your path. “Hey!” he shouts over the music, flashing a quick smile. “I’m Bryan. Here to get you there!” He points toward the stage like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Relief hits you so hard your knees nearly buckle. You let out the breath you’ve been holding since you stepped into the venue and nod, following him as he cuts through the crowd with practiced ease. He flashes badges, waves off security, and leads you up a narrow set of stairs to the side platform.

Just like Jolly promised, there’s a small setup waiting, there is two chairs, a tiny table, snacks lined up like a miniature buffet, and a rainbow of kid-friendly drinks. Theo’s eyes go huge. She rushes toward the table, her sign bouncing against her knees, and you swear she forgets the entire world exists for a moment.

You try to focus on the stage, on the band, on the the crowd, but your eyes keep drifting to the lead singer. The way he moves, the way he commands the room, the way his voice seems to reach straight through the noise and land right in your chest.

Theo squints at the stage, her whole face scrunching in concentration. Then she gasps,loud enough to startle you and jumps to her feet, smacking your leg with both hands.

“It’s Noah!” she screams, her voice bursting with pure, unfiltered joy.

And for the first time since you walked into the venue, your fear loosened its grip. Just a little.

You smile down at Theo, brushing your fingers through her hair as she proudly unfolds her sign, wrinkled from being squished against your hip, hoists it into the air like she’s signaling a rescue helicopter.

The music cuts out for a beat, the sudden quiet almost startling. Noah’s voice rolls over the crowd. “Raise your lighters, phones…whatever you’ve got, if this is your first time seeing Bad Omens!”

Theo immediately thrusts your phone upward like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment. In the process, she hits the flashlight button. The beam shoots straight up, wobbling wildly as she wiggles with excitement. It’s not bright enough to blind anyone, but it is bright enough to catch Noah’s eye through the haze of smog and stage lights.

He squints, confused. You can practically see him thinking, what the hell was that?

“This next song is—” he starts.

But Jolly has already spotted the rogue flashlight. Bryan gives him a quick signal, some kind of “yep, it’s happening” gesture and Jolly leans into his mic.

“Hold on,” he says, turning toward Noah with a grin that screams I’m about to cause problems on purpose. He laughs into the microphone. “We have a surprise for this one.”

He points directly at Noah.

Noah’s brows knit together. “No surprises. I don’t like that.” He says it like a man who already knows he’s about to be betrayed.

But Jolly is already handing off his guitar and sprinting to the side of the stage where you and Theo are tucked away. Nicholas gives the lighting cue, and suddenly the side platform floods with light, revealing you both like contestants on a game show.

The crowd can’t see you from their angle, but Noah can. Oh, he can. His whole face scrunches in this adorable, embarrassed smile he tries, and fails to hide. He covers his mouth with his hand, tilting his head down like he’s trying to disappear into his own shirt. You can practically hear his internal monologue, How did they sneak this past me? Who approved this? Why am I smiling like an idiot?

He laughs, sets the microphone back on the stand, and crouches down. Then he opens his arms wide and waves both hands toward himself, signaling for Theo like he’s calling a puppy. He knows you won’t step out there, but Theo? Theo would walk straight into a volcano if he asked.

She looks up at you, eyes huge, silently begging for permission. You nod.

She bolts toward the front of the stage with speed and determination. Noah barely has time to brace himself before she flings her entire body into his arms, nearly knocking him backward.

He catches her with a soft “oof,” laughing as she wraps her arms around his neck

Noah stands up slowly, still holding Theo like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever been handed. She settles naturally on his hip, one arm looped around his neck, her little sneakers dangling as he grabs the microphone with his free hand.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he says, glancing from the crowd back to Theo like he can’t quite believe she’s real. Behind him, the rest of the band starts drifting back into their places, all of them wearing the same amused expressions.

“This is my best friend, Theo,” Noah announces proudly. He gestures to her with the mic, and she gives the crowd a tiny wave like she’s greeting her royal subjects. “Her mom and her came to see us today, and I feel so fucking honored.”

The crowd roars, and Theo beams like she personally caused it.

The lights dim again, shifting into the soft blue wash meant for the next song. You think he’s going to set her down, but he doesn’t. He keeps her right there, tucked against him like she belongs.

“Theo,” he says, leaning the mic toward her, “do you wanna help me sing this next song?”

She nods so hard her headphones wobble. “Which one!?” she asks, tilting the mic toward her mouth like she’s done this a thousand times.

“The one that we sing about Mommy.”

Her eyes go huge , cartoon huge and she claps her hands together with a squeal that makes Noah laugh into the mic. The band starts the intro, and Theo immediately starts bobbing her head, completely off-beat but with full commitment.

Your heart? It’s not just swelling, it’s doing somersaults, cartwheels, backflips. You swear you can feel it in your throat.

As the song builds, Noah finally sets Theo down, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. She stands right beside him, bouncing on her toes.

When the instrumental hits, Noah grabs both her hands and starts jumping in circles with her, matching the rhythm as best he can while Theo just… jumps. No rhythm. No pattern. Just pure joy.

They spin in a wobbly little circle. Noah laughing, Theo shrieking with delight and the crowd loses their minds. Phones go up. People cheer.

Noah keeps her steady, guiding her jumps so she doesn’t faceplant, and every few seconds he glances over at you with this soft, overwhelmed smile the kind that says I can’t believe this is my life.

And honestly? You can’t either.

The music cuts out, a sudden hush, and Noah glances at Theo like he’s been handed the world’s cutest mission. He gives her this soft smile and they start walking back toward you, hand in hand, Theo’s tiny arm swinging.

When they reach you, Noah’s grin is so wide it looks medically concerning. “You came.” His voice cracks with how hard he’s smiling.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even though your heart is doing cartwheels. “A little birdie told me you were sad…”

He doesn’t even let the words settle. In one quick, reckless swoop, he cups your face and kisses you, just long enough for Theo to absolutely lose her mind.

“Mommy and Noah sitting in a tree!” she squeals, and instead of spelling it out like a normal child, she just hollers, “KISSING!”

Noah pulls back, forehead still touching yours, and looks down at her with a dramatic gasp. “We’ve been caught.” He wraps his arms around and you melt against him. You’d been missing being wrapped against his body.

Theo immediately switches to sing-song mode, pointing at him like she’s announcing breaking news. “Noah is mommy’s boyfriend, Noah is mommy’s boyfriend!”

You shake your head, laughing because there’s no stopping her now. You rest your hand on Noah’s chest and give him a light push, more of a tap, really, because he’s still smiling like a golden retriever who just got praised for doing the trick.

“Go do your job, doofus.”

He backs away slowly, walking backward toward the stage, still grinning, still watching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. Theo waves both arms, and Noah gives her a little salute before turning back to the band.

Fallon sat, Talia nodding along as she spoke through the Zoom call.

"I think a key part in Adam's work is going to be recognizing those cognitive distortions like you said," Fallon explained. "He catches them eventually, but only after they've completely snowballed."

"I agree." Talia jotted down a quick note before looking back up at the screen. "I'd keep reinforcing that. He's starting to challenge them on his own, which is a really good sign."

She clicked to the next page of her notes before pausing.

"I have to say..." A smile spread across her face. "The way you conceptualize cases has changed so much over the last year. You've shown a tremendous amount of growth."

Fallon looked down at her notebook, absentmindedly turning her pen between her fingers.

"...It doesn't really feel like it."

"No?" She laughed softly.

"I still leave sessions wondering if I asked the wrong question or missed something important."

Talia smiled knowingly. "That feeling never completely goes away."

Fallon looked up. "It doesn't?"

"Oh, absolutely not." Talia laughed. "I've been doing this for over twenty years and I still replay sessions in my head on the drive home."

"...Seriously?"

"Every therapist thinks they're secretly fooling everyone for a little while."

Fallon laughed. "I've been waiting for someone to realize they accidentally gave me a license."

"Oh, I've already submitted the paperwork to have it revoked."

Fallon fake groaned.

"I knew it."

Talia grinned before her expression softened.

"The difference is that a year ago, you came into supervision looking for answers." She gestured toward Fallon through the screen. "Now you come in with your own formulation. You're asking better questions. You're trusting your instincts. That's what growing looks like."

Fallon sat quietly for a moment. She hadn't thought about it that way. Maybe she had changed. Maybe it had happened so gradually she hadn't noticed.

"Okayyy..." Talia said, scrolling farther down Fallon's caseload. "Let's see..." Her eyes landed on another name.

"Ah. How's it been going with Noah?"

Fallon's face brightened almost immediately.

"Really well." She found herself smiling.

"He's been engaging in sessions so well. Really receptive to feedback. I can tell he's actually applying things between sessions. It's like... everything we've been working on is finally clicking."

She spent the next few minutes walking Talia through his recent progress, the cognitive restructuring they'd been working on, the way he'd started catching his own thought patterns before she even had to point them out.

"That's great to hear," Talia said, clearly pleased.

"He talked a lot about his music recently."

"Oh?"

"I listened to it."

Talia's eyebrows lifted.

"Since he specifically asked me to," Fallon added quickly.

Talia laughed. "I wasn't judging."

"I know." Fallon smiled sheepishly. "I just wanted to be sure I was making the right decision."

"And?"

Fallon leaned back in her chair.

"He opens up so much in his music. Not that he doesn't in session, but it's... different. More expressive. More poetic." She searched for the right words. "I think songwriting is one of his primary coping skills. It's where he processes everything before he can even put it into words."

Talia nodded.

"I also realized something."

"What?"

"He makes this kind of music for the same reason I listen to this kind of music."

A knowing smile spread across Talia's face.

"I wondered if that might happen."

Fallon's stomach dropped.

"...What?"

"Not the listening." Talia leaned forward slightly. "The connection."

She gestured toward Fallon's tattoos and black band hoodie.

"One of the reasons I gave you his referral is because I knew you spoke his language."

Fallon blinked.

"Music isn't just background noise to you. Most therapists would've politely nodded when he started talking about Motionless in White, anime, horror games, or screaming vocals." A grin tugged at the corner of Talia's mouth. "You knew exactly what he meant."

Fallon thought about that for a long moment. She had. Not because she'd studied it. Because she'd lived it.

"And..." Talia lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Off the record..."

Fallon already knew she wasn't going to like where this was headed.

"...I figured you might think it was kind of cool to work with someone in a famous emo band."

Fallon laughed despite herself.

"You're terrible."

"I know."

The conversation moved on, but Talia's words lingered long after the call ended.

Listening to Bad Omens had given Fallon another lens through which to understand Noah. Therapy had revealed the way he thought; his music revealed the way he felt. Some things simply couldn't be articulated in conversation alone.

She heard pieces of his history woven into songs like Glass Houses, Dethrone, and Enough, Enough Now- the grief, anger, and loneliness that still lingered beneath the surface. Others, like Limits and Burning Out, reflected the same intelligence, determination, and quiet resilience she had come to recognize in session. She'd spent hours working her way through their discography, sometimes sitting in thoughtful silence, other times stopping in genuine disbelief at a guttural scream or composition. Had she discovered Bad Omens under different circumstances, she knew she would've become a fan long before she ever knew the man behind the music.

________________________

Session 17

"So, management's trying to keep us visible," Noah explained. "We've been filming acoustic stuff, virtual sets... just trying to put something out there while we can't tour."

Fallon nodded. "How's that been?"

He let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked any real humor.

"I hated every second of it."

"What part?"

"The filming."

He moved a strand of hair behind his ear, eyes dropping away from the camera.

"I don't know... I just felt like I looked like shit the whole time."

Fallon tilted her head slightly but didn't interrupt.

"It's stupid," he continued quickly. "I know it is."

"What makes it feel stupid?"

"Because it's music." He shrugged. "People are supposed to care about the songs, not whether my hair looked weird or if I looked tired."

He paused before letting out another small laugh.

"But... they do."

"The comments?"

"The comments. The screenshots. Promo photos. Music videos." He sighed. "You're kind of the face of the band when you're the frontman. Whether I like it or not, people look at me first."

Silence settled between them.

"I know it's part of the job," he admitted. "I just hate how much headspace it takes up, how much time I spent that day thinking about how I looked like shit."

“Well first of all, I’m sure you -” For the briefest moment, Fallon forgot herself.

You looked fine.

The thought came so naturally it startled her.

More than fine.

She swallowed the words and gathered herself quickly.

"I’m sure you...experience a lot of pressure from your audience, and I want to acknowledge that, but also challenge you. What do you think a frontman looks like?" she asked gently.

Noah frowned, considering the question."I... don't know."

"You sounded pretty certain a minute ago." Fallon challenged.

A corner of his mouth lifted. "...Yeah."

________________________

After the call Noah sat for a moment, thinking. He noticed the warmth in his chest. Noticed how it was a feeling that he frequently felt following his sessions.

He placed his headphones on his desk and left his room, walking down the stairs to his roommates. Noah dropped onto the cushion beside Jessie without a word and directed his attention to the TV screen.

Jessie looked over.

"...What's going on with you?"

Noah frowned. "What?"

"You're in a suspiciously good mood."

"I'm sitting here."

"Exactly. Voluntarily."

Noah laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m serious, you’ve acted more human recently. You’re less scary to be around.”

Noah punched him gently on the arm, mumbling a quiet “shut up.”

Jolly chimed in. “Always holed up in his room talking to someone.”

Michael gasped dramatically from across the room. "Wait..." He pointed dramatically at Noah. "Is it a lady?" 

The room erupted.

Within seconds Michael had decided Noah was secretly dating someone, Jessie wanted a name, and Jolly was already trying to figure out how long he'd been keeping it from them. Even Orie wandered out from the kitchen wearing the kind of smirk that suggested he found Noah's discomfort endlessly entertaining. 

“You guys know I stream a lot,” Noah attempted to vindicate his hours spent chatting in his room.

“In the middle of the day on a Tuesday?” Jolly probed.

Noah parted his lips to answer but fell silent at the sudden stares in his direction.

The room erupted again.

"Oh, it's serious."

"Shut up."

Michael pointed accusingly across the room.

"I want everyone here to remember this moment. Noah Sebastian is voluntarily talking to a woman."

"Consistently," Jessie added.

Noah rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a smile. "I'm going upstairs."

Their protests followed him all the way to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, the muffled laughter fading into the background.

A girlfriend.

The thought almost made him laugh. They weren't entirely wrong. There was someone he'd begun looking forward to talking to every week. The realization should have bothered him more than it did. Before the pandemic, his calendar had been full. Flights. Tour buses. Recording sessions. Crowds of strangers every night. There had always been somewhere to be, someone to meet. Now his world had shrunk to the walls of the house. Days blurred together until Tuesday arrived. Tuesday meant therapy. Tuesday meant forty-five minutes where someone asked how he was doing and actually waited for the answer.

Tuesday meant Fallon.

He pushed himself away from the door with a quiet sigh.

He looked forward to therapy. That was all it was.

Nothing more.

It was just unfortunate that the two things were tied together.

________________________

Fallon finished the last of her Tuesday sessions and let out a long sigh, rubbing at her tired eyes before shutting her laptop. Every day had begun to blend into the next. Wake up. Sit in front of a screen. Talk to clients. Eat dinner alone. Repeat. Like most of the world, she missed people. Coffee shops. Concerts. Weekend trips. Anything that wasn't confined to the same four walls.

She carried her plate to the sink before settling onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs and opening TikTok.

Dance trend. Swipe. Another Tiger King joke. Swipe. A recipe she'd never make. Swipe.

Then a title caught her attention.

Top 5 Up-and-Coming Metal Bands You Need to Listen To

The title caught her attention.

The creator counted down through a handful of bands she'd already heard of. Code Orange. Trivium. Spiritbox.

Finally, 

"Number one: Bad Omens."

Footage from one of their music videos filled the screen. Fallon sat forward. It was strange seeing Noah like this.

Hours ago, he'd been sitting in an oversized hoodie, quietly talking through insecurities over a grainy webcam.

Here, he commanded the screen.

His shoulders were squared, every movement deliberate, his voice carrying a confidence that almost felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. The harsh vocals she'd listened to the other night somehow seemed even more powerful paired with the visuals. He looked powerful.

She couldn't reconcile the two versions of him. One agonized over whether his hair looked bad during an acoustic performance. The other stood under blinding stage lights in front of thousands of people without seeming nervous for a second. Her therapist brain caught itself. Or maybe he did. She knew enough by now not to mistake confidence for comfort.

The video ended.

Without thinking, she continued to scroll., and what do you know?

The next clip wasn't another performance.

Noah being Noah for 45 seconds

It was a rapid-fire compilation. Clips jumped between formats; Noah answering questions with dry, deadpan humor in interviews, then cutting to a Twitch stream where he screamed at the top of his lungs as he lost the game. Another clip showed him mid–Instagram story, someone from the band filming him backstage while he tilted his head back, having a 5 hour energy poured into his mouth before gagging. Him meowing with cat ear headphones on.

Fallon felt herself smiling.

"...Okay," she laughed quietly. "I didn't expect you to be this funny."

Or maybe she should have. He'd made her laugh nearly every Tuesday for months.

The algorithm worked quickly. Another clip appeared.

This time, he ran around and rolled on the floor, playing with a small tan dog he called Max.

The comments scrolled underneath.

"He's actually so attractive it's unfair."

"CUTIE PIE ANGEL BABY"

"The things I would let him do to me."

"I swear this dude is so ."

Fallon smiled to herself.

They're right.

Another swipe.

A live performance.

Another.

Fan-shot footage from the barricade.

The comments flew by almost too quickly to read.

"How are they not huge yet?"

"This band deserves so much more recognition."

"Noah's vocals are unreal."

"I've never connected to lyrics like this before."

That one made her pause.

She clicked into the comments.

Hundreds of people described how the music had carried them through breakups, depression, anxiety, grief. She found herself smiling.

Good.

He'd never spoken about wanting fame. Recognition, yes. Success, absolutely.

Underneath all of that, what he really wanted was for people to hear what he had to say. And they did. It was amazing, but it gave a lot more weight to his perspective, the things he had shared in session.

A constant stream of strangers feeling entitled to dissect everything about you.

No wonder filming an acoustic set had consumed his thoughts. No wonder he felt pressure every time a camera pointed his way. She locked her phone for a moment, letting it rest against her knee.

It was odd. She'd spent months getting to know Noah Sebastian. Yet tonight felt like she was meeting him for the first time. Not because she was learning something new, but because she was finally seeing all the different versions of him.

The frontman. The songwriter. The sarcastic friend who constantly messed with his bandmates. The quiet client who still questioned whether he was enough.

The phone buzzed softly in her hand.

Without thinking, she unlocked it again.

One more video.

Then another.

By the time she finally glanced at the clock, nearly forty minutes had disappeared.

"...shit," she muttered, locking her phone for good this time. "I guess the algorithm won."

She set it face down on the coffee table before reaching for her PlayStation controller.

As the console powered on, one thought lingered in the back of her mind. The person the internet thought they knew and the person who showed up every Tuesday weren't different people at all. They were simply different pieces of the same one. Much like the fans, she longed to know him more.

________________________

Session 19

Fallon and Noah had just barely begun the session when something brushed across the webcam, blocking Fallon out entirely.

"...Excuse me."

A fuzzy striped tail swished directly in front of the camera before disappearing.

Noah laughed. “He hasn’t made an appearance in awhile.”

“He waits until I'm talking to someone before demanding immediate attention."

Right on cue, a quiet meow echoed through the room. Noah chuckled.

“For the record, he is HIPAA certified,” Fallon said with a laugh.

Noah grinned. "Oh, good. I was worried about confidentiality."

Fallon shook her head, amused. "He takes his job very seriously."

Her cat gave one final, indignant meow before hopping off the desk.

Fallon watched him disappear before turning her attention back to the screen, the smile lingering on her face.

"Now that my coworker has finished supervising," she teased, "where were we?"

Noah chuckled, settling back into his chair.

They spent the next several minutes returning to the conversation they'd been having before the interruption, revisiting the frustration he'd been carrying over another canceled project and the familiar disappointment that seemed to follow every setback. Fallon listened carefully, occasionally reflecting his thoughts back to him, until the conversation slowed once more.

"When things don’t go the way you hoped," she said gently, "what do you usually tell yourself about it?" 

"Life sucks…and then you die."

Fallon froze for half a second, clearly trying to stay composed.

Then she broke.

A startled laugh burst out of her, quickly turning into full-on cackling as she covered her mouth.

"I'm…I'm sorry-" she managed between breaths, shaking her head. "I wasn't expecting that."

Noah grinned, clearly pleased with himself. She tried to regain control, but another laugh slipped out.

"That was... incredibly bleak."

"And accurate."

She exhaled, still smiling as she finally settled.

"I'll pretend that wasn't your official coping strategy."

"And I'll pretend you didn't just laugh that hard at it."

“You really do make me laugh,” she admitted. She meant it. Not as a way to boost her clients confidence or feed his ego, but genuinely.

The admission lingered between them. Fallon wasn't in the habit of saying things like that to clients. Not because it wasn't true, but because most sessions never called for it. Yet with Noah, the words hadn't felt therapeutic or carefully chosen. They had simply... happened.

Fallon began to wrap up the session. She opened her planner to look at the date before she confirmed their next session.

“Next week is…Oh! August 11th. My birthday,” she said casually, huffing a laugh.

“You’re not taking the day off? No plans?” Noah asked casually.

“No not really, not that there’s much to do right now,” Fallon said, gesturing to the world around her.

He agreed, then left her with a “see you next week” and she exited the call.

________________________

Session 20

“So before we end-” Noah said, seeming a little hesitant. “Everything in these sessions is always...totally confidential, right?”

“Yeah?” Fallon’s heart began to race a little.

“I was sent something, to give some feedback.” A slight smirk appeared on his face.

Fallon’s nerves relaxed and she smiled. “Oh?”

“It’s a demo…from a friend. Landon? From The Plot in You.”

Her eyes widened. One of her favorite bands of all time.

“I know it’s your birthday. And I know I can’t get you anything, but hypothetically….what if I played it?”

Fallon stuttered. Words did not exist to explain how bad she wanted to hear it, and she wracked her brain for any way to justify it clinically.

“Well I mean, I guess-”

“I am the client. Can’t I share whatever I want?” He said with a teasing smirk.

“I guess you’re right.” She said, shaking her head and shrugging. 

He took off his headphones and pulled out his phone, then began navigating through it, adjusting the volume before holding it up to the mic. Fallon’s lips parted in disbelief as she listened to the song, nodding her head as it came through the speakers. She got to hear the inner workings, the first ever version of it. She was listening to it before any other fan would even know it existed. The song ended and Noah fit his headphones back over his ears.

“Feedback? Any suggestions?” Noah asked, raising a brow and laughing at the stunned look on Fallon’s face.

“I have no words. I can’t believe I just heard that,” she sat for a moment shaking her head, “I mean I wish the breakdown was a little longer?”

“I agree,” Noah said. He clicked through his phone and typed for a moment before hitting send. “Noted.”

Fallon was still speechless. She’d forever have a tiny grain of involvement in the song's making. In its history. Noah had given that to her.

“Wow.”

“I knew you’d think it was cool,” Noah said, a softness to his voice, “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. Really Noah, that meant a lot.” Fallon said, sincerely.

Fallon left the call and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere across Los Angeles, Noah was probably already moving on with his evening.

Recording.

Ordering dinner.

Talking to the guys.

Completely unaware that a 2 minute song demo had somehow become the nicest birthday gift she'd received in years.

She sat at her laptop writing her progress note for Noah’s session, a soft smile still on her lips. She completed the content for the work they had done, and her mind drifted to the last few minutes of the call. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about how to document it, how to make the exchange seem therapeutic. Nothing came to mind, so she left it out. That moment was just for her. For them.

Author's Note: SURPRISE! I was gonna keep the posting schedule for this fic as Wednesday nights but had client cancellations and got home early and felt like disappearing into a fake lil world. I would LOVE to hear what you guys think of the plot and these characters and any PREDICTIONS HEHEHEE, lmk!!!- Lila

It was 9am on a Monday, the typical time Fallon had her weekly supervision meetings with Talia. She had spent the last hour going through her recent session notes and formulating questions, noting to discuss the new referral she saw in her inbox. She unplugged her laptop, grabbed her process journal, and headed down the hall to her office. Talia greeted her with a smile, turning the sign on the door to In Session and clicking it shut behind them.

Talia plopped down on the couch across from Fallon.

“So. Notable sessions this week?”

“I’m seeing a lot of progress with Melanie. I’ve been incorporating DBT skills to help her with managing the school avoidance and she’s gone the full week for 3 weeks in a row now.” Fallon explained, her face lit with pride.

“Distress tolerance is powerful stuff” Talia concurred.

The conversation continued in much the same way, moving from client to client as they reviewed treatment plans, celebrated small victories, and worked through the inevitable setbacks. Talia offered suggestions where needed, challenged Fallon to consider different approaches when she found herself feeling stuck, and reminded her, as she often did, to be mindful of the weight she carried home with her. By the time they reached the end of Fallon's caseload, the folder in front of Talia was nearly closed. 

“Oh! Yeah, one more thing. I saw in my email the new client that you referred to me?” Fallon remembered.

“Yes! I think I know which one you’re talking about. Noah S. Davis?”

“Yup that’s him,” Fallon confirmed, checking the form on her laptop.

“I know you have a pretty full caseload right now, but when Dr. Brooks and I were thinking of who to assign him to, something about his case immediately brought you to mind. Plus I think it’s a good one for you to take on from a professional standpoint based on the form.” Talia explained.

Fallon nodded, contemplating. She knew Talia believed in her abilities, but she was already stretched pretty thin, and her caseload typically consisted of lower profile clients. Still, something about the referral caught her attention. Convincing herself she could manage it with the right support, she accepted the assignment and returned to her office to begin reviewing his intake paperwork.

Over the next several days, the office buzzed with conversations that had little to do with therapy. Schools began closing, appointments were canceled or rescheduled, and uncertainty seeped into nearly every session. What started as discussions about hand sanitizer and social distancing quickly became agency-wide meetings, contingency plans, and hastily learned telehealth platforms. Within a week, the hallways that had once been filled with clients and clinicians sat empty. Fallon continued her sessions at home, her chubby tabby cat keeping her company on her lap.

________________________

An email notification from his phone pulled Noah’s attention away from the game on the computer screen. His heart dropped. Maybe it was management saying they rescheduled the tour, maybe they were able to cut a deal with the merch company. He couldn’t help but cling to that hope. He sipped a glass of wine as he typed the passcode in on his phone.

An email from West Grove Counseling Center.

Hi Noah, My name is Fallon Villa, and I'm a therapist with West Grove Counseling Center. I was recently assigned your referral and wanted to reach out to introduce myself and schedule your initial appointment. Due to recent changes related to COVID-19, our office has temporarily transitioned all sessions to a secure telehealth platform. While we had originally planned to conduct new client intakes in person, we'll be meeting virtually until it is safe to resume office visits. If you're still interested in beginning counseling, I'd be happy to schedule a 60-minute intake session at a time that's convenient for you. I currently have availability on: Tuesday, March 31 at 3:30 p.m. Wednesday, April 1 at 2:00 p.m. Thursday, April 2 at 11:00 a.m. If none of these times work for your schedule, please let me know what days and times generally work best for you, and I'll do my best to accommodate. Once we confirm an appointment, I'll send you the secure video link along with a few forms to complete beforehand. I look forward to meeting you! Best, Fallon Villa, MA Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor

His heart dropped. He wasn’t sure if it was from disappointment or nerves. He hadn’t been to therapy in years, but he recognized that things were getting bad again. It was for the best. Noah closed out of his game of Fall Guys and opened the email on his monitor. He clicked the link to the website and spent a moment clicking around until he found a staff directory.

Fallon Villa. He clicked on her name.

Her professional headshot filled the screen beside a short bio. Jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders with streaks of purple and blue peeking through. Hints of tattoos peaked out of the black blouse she wore in the headshot. A ring sparkled on one side of her nose. Noah felt a certain warmth from her photo, she looked easy to talk to, like she would understand.

He let out a deep sigh and navigated back to the other tab, clicking reply on the email. Tuesday, March 31st he’d go back to therapy.

________________________

Fallon clicked through the intake forms on her screen.

Client Information Full Name: Noah Sebastian Davis Preferred Name: Noah  Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Date of Birth: October 31, 1995 Age: 24 years  Employment Status: Employed Occupation: Musician Marital Status: Single Reason for seeking counseling: I've struggled with anxiety and depression for a long time, but it's gotten noticeably worse over the past few weeks. My band's tour was canceled unexpectedly because of COVID-19 and I'm having a hard time adjusting. I don't feel motivated, I'm constantly on edge, and I'm having trouble sleeping. I figured it's probably time I talked to someone. Social History Resides with: Joakim, Orie, Jesse, Michael (Friends/bandmates) Education: Some High School Social Supports Parents: N/A Siblings: N/A Relationship: N/A  Friendships & Other Supports: Several close friends, grandmother, management team Lifestyle and Habits Hobbies: Writing music, watching anime, video games Religious Involvement: N/A Stress Management Techniques: Music, running

She reviewed all of the relevant information before clicking onto Zoom to start the session. She entered the room and took a calming breath, waiting for Noah to answer the call.

Session 1

Noah entered the call after a few moments. Fallon took in his appearance. He had long brown hair that rested just past his shoulders, and soft almond shaped eyes to match. Tattoos kissed his jawline and disappeared under the collar of his hoodie. He adjusted his headphones with ink covered hands. LED lights casted a blue glow around the room from behind a bedframe. Tour posters and tattoo flash sheets covered the wall behind him. Fallon took note. She often believed you could learn a lot about someone from their space.

She started the session with a brief introduction, giving her spiel of informed consent and confidentiality. Then, it was time for their work to begin.

She spent the next several minutes guiding Noah through the routine questions that accompanied every intake; clarifying pieces of his history, reviewing his support system, and filling in the gaps left on his paperwork. He answered politely, if somewhat reserved, speaking matter-of-factly about experiences that most people would struggle to summarize so casually. Losing both of his parents, navigating much of his adolescence on his own, moving across the country to pursue music before most people his age had figured out what they wanted to do with their lives. Fallon made a few notes, careful not to interrupt more than necessary.

When the last of the intake process was behind them, she closed the form on her screen and offered him a small smile.

"First of all," she began gently, "I just want to acknowledge that you've had to navigate a lot of difficult circumstances long before everything happened with the pandemic. Going through your history, it sounds like you've spent a long time adapting and figuring things out on your own."

Noah gave a small shrug.

"I guess."

"So, with all of that in mind," Fallon continued, "what was it about these last few weeks that made you decide now was the right time to reach out?"

Noah looked away from the camera for a moment, his fingers absently tugged on the strings of his hoodie.

"I've always kind of managed," he admitted quietly. "No matter what happened, I could usually throw myself into music and keep moving." He let out a humorless laugh, "And then all of a sudden... there wasn't anywhere to move."

Fallon nodded, allowing the silence to work for a moment.

“There was always so much noise, traveling and playing shows, doing press, all of it. Now that I’m home, now that it’s all gone, there’s still a lot of noise. Just…not the good kind.”

Fallon nodded thoughtfully. "One thing that stood out to me while we’ve been talking is that every challenge you've described was immediately followed by what you did next. You lost your parents, so you learned to take care of yourself. You wanted to pursue music, so you moved across the country. Every obstacle seems to have been met with another goal."

He looked away from the camera for a moment.

"I never really thought about it like that."

"It sounds like you've spent a long time surviving by continuing to move forward, would that be accurate to say?"

There was a long pause before Noah spoke again.

"Yeah... I guess I have."

Fallon leaned back slightly in her chair. "So let's explore what changed. You've overcome a lot in your life. What was it about these last few weeks that made you decide that you need a different approach?"

Noah exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I've always had something to work toward," he admitted. "Even when things sucked, I could throw myself into writing or touring or whatever was next. There was always another city, another show, another goal."

His eyes drifted off-screen for a moment.

"And without it...there's not much else."

The room fell quiet.

"I keep waking up feeling like I'm supposed to be somewhere," he continued. "Like I've forgotten something important. But there's nowhere to go. Nothing to work on. I don't..." He let out a frustrated laugh. "I don't really know who I am when I'm not doing that."

Fallon let the silence settle before responding.

"It makes sense that everything feels so overwhelming right now," she said gently. "The pandemic didn't just interrupt your career, it took away your routine, your sense of purpose, and the structure you've relied on for years. That's a tremendous loss, even if it doesn't always feel like one you're allowed to grieve."

Noah looked back at the camera, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"I hadn't really thought of it that way."

"You don't have to figure it all out today," Fallon said with a small smile. "For now, maybe we can just start by understanding what this loss has meant for you and work forward from there."

For the first time since the session began, Noah returned a faint smile of his own.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'd like that."

The remainder of the session was spent discussing what therapy might look like moving forward. Fallon explained her approach, answered the few questions Noah had, and together they settled on meeting once a week for the time being. As the hour came to an end, she confirmed their next appointment before offering him one last reassuring smile.

"It was nice meeting you, Noah. I'll see you next week."

"You too."

The screen flickered, and his square disappeared from the monitor.

For a moment, Fallon remained where she was, hands resting quietly on her keyboard as the silence settled over her apartment. Then, with practiced familiarity, she opened his chart and began documenting the session.

Presenting concerns: Anxiety, difficulty adjusting to recent life changes, sleep disturbance. Clinical impression: Engaged. Thoughtful. Guarded, though receptive. Insight appeared good. Rapport established.

She reread the note once, saved the chart, and closed the laptop. Another intake complete.

________________________

Session 6

"How many hours did you sleep last night?"

Noah dragged a hand down his face, already looking tired. "I went to bed at 4 am. Soo," he counted silently on his fingers, “five, maybe?”

"Maybe?"

He shrugged. "Jolly wouldn't shut up. He kept knocking on my door at like two in the morning about some mix he hates now."

Fallon raised an eyebrow. "So Jolly kept you awake until four?"

Noah hesitated.

"...No."

"No?"

"I mean-he started it," Noah said, a little defensive. "But then I was already up, so I figured I might as well work."

Fallon's mouth curved slightly. "Of course you did."

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "What was I supposed to do, just lie there?"

"That was one option."

"That sounds miserable."

"It usually does when you're not used to it."

Noah leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes.

"I got stuff done, at least."

"I'm sure you did," Fallon said lightly. "But you didn't really solve the sleep problem."

He exhaled through his nose.

"...Yeah."

"You just gave it a different excuse."

That earned her a look.

"Wow. Okay."

"I'm not saying Jolly didn't disturb you," she added, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I'm saying you didn't have to turn it into a four-hour writing session."

Noah shook his head, but there was a reluctant smile there.

"When you say it like that, it sounds bad."

"It sounds accurate."

He let out a quiet laugh, glancing away from the camera.

Fallon leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

"I'm noticing a pattern," she said. "Whenever something disrupts your routine, or you feel anxious, you don't really stop. You just pivot. One thing turns into another, and suddenly you're busy again."

Noah stared at something off-screen for a moment.

"...Yeah."

"Touring became writing," she continued. "Writing becomes emails. Emails become cleaning. Somewhere in there, you're telling yourself you're resting."

He let out a breath.

"I never thought about it like that."

"I know." Fallon smiled gently. "That's why we're talking about it."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

"So," she said after a moment, "this week I don't want you to fix it."

Noah glanced back at the screen.

"That's new."

"I just want you to notice it," she clarified. "Every time you feel that urge to fill the space, whether it's because you're anxious, bored, or just uncomfortable, pause long enough to recognize it."

"...And then what?"

"Nothing," she said simply. "That's it."

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"That feels like a trick."

She laughed softly. "It's not. Awareness comes first."

Noah leaned back again, considering.

"...Alright. I can do that."

Noah and Fallon continued discussing his work life, how lockdown impacted their work and the ways the music industry had adjusted to continue on.

“Chris told me he’s still doing a set for download fest since it's happening virtually now.”

Fallon raised an eyebrow. “Chris?”

“Yeah, you know, Motionless in White?” he responded as if it would be obvious.

“How do you know that's something I would know?” she interrogated jokingly.

“C’mon it’s pretty obvious you listen to our type of music. You’re covered in tattoos, have dyed hair and piercings, and you literally have a Motionless vinyl on the wall behind you.” He said, his face lit with a smile.

Fallon turned around quickly, surveying the display behind her desk.

“Guilty,” she laughed.

“Yeah we’re tight, he is my coworker after all. Him and all the other bands you listen to” Noah gloated sarcastically, failing to stifle his laughter.

Fallon smiled at her lap and shook her head. “Okay, rockstar.”

By the end of the session, Noah seemed lighter than when he'd logged on. They reviewed his “homework” for the coming week, confirmed the same time next Tuesday, and exchanged their usual goodbyes before the screen faded to black. Fallon sat quietly for a moment, staring at the now-empty Zoom window. Before she realized it, she caught herself smiling.

He'd laughed more today.

She reached for her keyboard, shaking her head with a quiet, amused exhale as she opened his chart. Progress, she reminded herself. That's all this was. She documented the session, saved her note, and moved on to the rest of her afternoon.

________________________

Time seemed to pass by quicker than usual being stuck at home. Fallon spent most of her time in her desk chair in front of the computer in session or completing notes. What was happening in the world had a huge impact on her clients in so many ways. It was hard not to feel burned out.

Eventually, a much needed day off came around. Fallon lounged on the couch, dressed in a comfy matching set, and worked her way through a pint of ice cream. Reality TV sounded through the room and her friend spoke through the speaker of her phone on Facetime.

“I mean at least you get to talk to people all day, I’m so lonely here.” Michelle sighed dramatically.

“Well it’s not really talking to people, they’re my clients. I’m giving them therapy. There's really  nothing in it for me per se. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, it's just not the same as talking to like…friends.” Fallon explained.

“So there's NOTHING entertaining about it? Nothing juicy? No hot guy clients? No nasty fights between couples? C’mon.”

Fallon's cheeks flushed, and she was suddenly glad the camera wasn’t aimed at her face. Any hot guy clients? She instinctually wanted to scream NO, but a second later a face had popped into her head. She swallowed down the thoughts and internally panicked. They had always taught in grad school that attraction was okay, normal even, as long as the clinician worked through it and managed the case ethically.

“Theres...Even if there was, I couldn't tell you. Confidentiality.” Fallon replied defensively. 

Michelle rolled her eyes on screen.

After the call, Fallon sat silently. Thinking. She turned on the TV and let her thoughts melt away.

________________________

Noah forced himself to close Logic and tear the headphones from his head. His ears were fatigued from listening to the tiniest of details in the mix he was working on, his throat scratchy from recording so many vocal takes. His stomach ached with hunger after neglecting all other signals from his body besides the creative parts of his brain. He was putting so much into this new album. Noah envisioned it; restrictions lifting, the new album releasing, a huge headline tour. He couldn’t slow down, he had to keep working, keep doing something. Fallon’s words filled his head.

Fallon.

Noah looked forward to Tuesdays every week, now. He got to dump out all of the stress, all of the worries. Not only did she listen, she cared. She pushed against his stubbornness. After a few weeks she could already read him like a book. It was something he had never truly experienced before.

Noah stood up from the desk chair and stretched, then walked out of the studio into the kitchen. Jolly was singing to himself, piecing together a sandwich. He turned around, startled by Noah’s presence.

“Holy shit you’re alive.” 

Noah gave him a puzzled look.

“You’ve been in there for like 8 hours, I forgot you were even here.”

Noah wasn’t sure what to say, he was too busy thinking about how he had pushed himself to the limit once again. Pause long enough to recognize it she had told him. He took a breath and continued on.

After eating for the first time in hours, he went upstairs to his room. His thoughts urged him to pick up a guitar, work out that one bridge, or finish the drum track he needed to send to Folio. He didn’t let himself. Noah looked around the room. He searched for anything enticing, any possible purpose for him trapped within the confines of the house. His attention turned to the game controller on his desk, then he powered on his PC.

Opening the search engine, he typed in Twitch. He’d keep himself busy, but this would be purely for fun.

________________________

Session 11

“I reached my sub goal like 2 weeks early this month.”

“I’m not gonna pretend that I know what that means, but you seem excited about that, so that’s really great” Fallon responded with a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t know if anyone would even watch, but it’s turned into a great way to connect with the fans and share band stuff without being able to tour or do a lot of press or anything.”

“Interacting with fans. That sounds like something really important, yeah? I mean the whole notion of having ‘fans’ that is. What's that experience like for you?”

Noah went on about how happy he was that anyone cared to listen to their music, let alone support them in other ways. He felt so lucky. Sure, it was overwhelming sometimes, but it came with being a musician.

“Actually- a few weeks back, I streamed while I did the vocal takes for one song on the acoustic album I told you about” he said excitedly. 

“That’s awesome, a little behind the scenes.”

“Yeah… thinking about the lyrics the other day, it kind of made me think of therapy.”

“How so?” Fallon asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

“It talks a lot about having someone there for you in your darkest time, and that’s what I feel yo-” he stopped himself, “what I feel therapy has been for me. I mean a lot of my music in general talks a lot about my feelings. It makes it a lot easier to work through them.”

Fallon nodded, letting him process the thought.

“You should listen to it. It’s called ‘If I'm There’.” He said plainly, looking down to avoid her gaze. 

"...Actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck, "...Would that be weird?"

Fallon furrowed her brow. "What?"

"You. Listening to it.”

Fallon thought about it for a moment, deciding it might be beneficial material to explore during a session.

“No… no not at all. We’re about at our time for today but yeah, I’d be open to it next session!” Fallon said sincerely. The call ended shortly after.

________________________

That night, Fallon paced back and forth in her lonely apartment, bored out of her mind. She walked into her bedroom and grabbed her earbuds from her nightstand, fitting them into her ears before plopping onto her bed. She laid staring up at the ceiling, letting the music fill her head. The next song shuffled on.

Another Life. 

Motionless in White.

Noah.

A smile spread across her lips, recalling their earlier session; how he just knew she liked heavy music, the way he'd proudly talked about the acoustic album, and his parting words asking her to listen. Fallon wrestled with herself for a moment before picking up her phone from beside her and opening Spotify. She typed Bad Omens into the search bar.

She hesitated.

What exactly was she doing? Trying to understand her client better? Trying to analyze his lyrics? Trying to make herself a better therapist?

With a quiet sigh, she held down the backspace key until the name disappeared from the screen.

"No," she murmured to herself. Not everything had to be clinical.

She spent so much of her life being Fallon the therapist that she'd almost forgotten there was supposed to be a Fallon underneath it all. A woman who loved loud music, spent too much money on vinyl records, and occasionally disappeared down internet rabbit holes in various emo band fandoms.

She typed Bad Omens into the search bar again.

This time, she didn't offer herself an excuse.

She clicked on the artist profile and pressed play. Not as a clinician trying to understand a client, but as Fallon- a woman who happened to enjoy heavy music and had permission to simply listen.

Author's Note: Words cannot describe how hard I worked on this chapter. I think I wrote then deleted parts a thousand times, it was two chapters then turned to one, it challenged the SHIT out of me but i'm SO PROUD of it so I really hope this story lives up to your expectations. If you need me I will be writing and thinking about Noah holding a sword during Dethrone. -XOXOXO LILA <3

Fallon

Fallon crossed the street, coffee cup in hand, heading towards the doors of her office building. She looked down at her watch and sighed in relief, there was plenty of time before the clinical meeting began. She greeted the other clinicians mingling in the lobby with a soft smile before slipping into her office and plopping her bag down in her chair. Making her way around the room, Fallon flicked on the various lamps, filling the room with warm light. Much more comfortable than the fluorescent overheads. 

Fallon straightened one of the throw pillows before setting her coffee beside the tissue box. The room was intentionally soft; neutral walls, warm lighting, shelves lined with psychology texts and the occasional self-help book she'd actually recommend. If someone walked through the door anxious, she wanted the room to feel like an exhale. Behind her desk, a large mahogany frame hung centered on the wall, reading San Diego State University, Fallon Villa, Master’s of Arts Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Something she had worked tirelessly for over the last 5 years. Every now and then she still caught herself staring at it.

She settled into her desk and paused for a moment after her rushed morning before unpacking her things.

Fallon’s phone lit up on her desk as she clicked through her sessions scheduled for the day.

2 New Messages: Michelle So? How’d it go last night??? I want the TMI version 1 Unread Message: Mom Was he nice? He sounded like he was gonna be a great guy

She locked her phone screen, ignoring the interrogations. She didn’t feel like explaining herself, or reliving the previous night of fake-deep conversation. She glanced at the clock. She grabbed her coffee cup and folder before heading to the clinical meeting. Therapists filed into the conference room. Fallon took a seat next to her supervisor, Talia, who greeted her warmly.

“Happy Wednesday,” Talia said cheerfully.

"It certainly is one of the Wednesdays I've experienced"  Fallon responded sarcastically.

Talia lowered her voice, “Date didn’t go well?”

“It went well, I just…I don’t know it felt more like a client than a potential boyfriend.” She replied, sounding defeated.

“Well I hope you at least tried to shut off and enjoy yourself” Talia said, inclining her head towards Fallon, “You need to spend more time as Fallon and not just Fallon The Therapist, it will be good for you AND your clients.”

Fallon smiled grimly, then turned her attention to the clinical director who began to address the group.

"Before we move into case consultation," Dr. Brooks began, looking around the conference room, "I'd like to spend a few minutes talking about the state of emergency that was declared recently."

He glanced down at his notes before looking back up.

"At this point, we still don't know what the next several weeks are going to look like. Things are changing almost daily, and there's a lot of uncertainty, for us and for our clients."

Several heads nodded around the room.

"I expect many of you will start seeing this come up in session, regardless of diagnosis. Clients with anxiety, OCD, health anxiety, depression... even those who have been relatively stable may find themselves feeling more distressed simply because of the unpredictability of what's happening."

He folded his hands on the table.

"Our job isn't to have all the answers. It's to help clients tolerate uncertainty, regulate their emotions, and maintain whatever sense of stability they can while things continue to unfold."

After a brief pause, he continued.

"As an agency, we're monitoring guidance from the state and the CDC closely. If anything changes regarding scheduling or how we're providing services, we'll communicate that as soon as we know more. For now, continue documenting any concerns that seem directly related to COVID-19, and don't hesitate to bring difficult cases to supervision or consultation. This is new territory for all of us, and we'll navigate it together."

The meeting went on, therapists discussing cases and ethical dilemmas for guidance as usual. Afterwards, Fallon gathered her folder and coffee and filed out with the crowd. Talia slowed outside the door and fell into step with her.

“I have back to back to back sessions practically all week but you know you can reach out any time if you need anything, I know there’s a lot going on. Otherwise I’ll see you next week for our supervision meeting. Same time as usual?”

“Yeah, same time!” Fallon nodded, then headed to her office to prepare for her first client.

Noah

Noah stood with the rest of the band in the green room, popping in his in-ears and adjusting the mic pack in his pocket. Their stage manager called out letting them know it was 2 minutes until showtime, and they followed him through the hall to the stage door. The smell of beer, sweat, and fog filled the air and Noah’s pulse quickened. The lights in the venue dimmed and screams erupted from the crowd.

This was it. This was all he ever wanted. So much sacrifice had gone into this, from dropping out of school to tour with Immoralist to moving across the country and cramming in a tiny LA apartment to build Bad Omens from the ground up. He had taken so many chances, had put his all into this, and it was finally paying off. Those screams? All for them. A Bad Omens headline tour. It was really happening. Things were moving in the right direction after all those years. The opening riff hit, and the strobes flashed as he ran to center stage. Heat from the lights washed over him as the crowd surged forward, voices rising loud enough to drown out the click track in his ears. For the next hour, nothing else existed. 

The show came and went in a blur of blinding lights, sweat-soaked shirts, and voices screaming every lyric back at them. By the time they made it back to the green room, the adrenaline had barely begun to fade when the atmosphere shifted. Phones buzzed one after another. Their tour manager stepped into the room, his expression enough to quiet the conversation before he even spoke. 

“We need to talk guys” Matt said, defeated, "I just got off the phone with Live Nation... and then the venue... and management. They're shutting everything down. Cleveland was... apparently our last show." 

Noah’s heart beat so loud in his chest he could hear it echoing in his ears.

“What?”

“The rest of the tour needs to be cancelled, or postponed, I’m not sure.” Matt replied.

Questions filled the room faster than anyone could answer them. When would they be back? What happened to the crew they had paid? Could they finish out this run?

“We..I..guys I don’t know, but the venue for tomorrow already closed. Everything else is following. Nobody knows how long it's gonna last." 

“What do we do?” a voice asked.

“We pack up, we find flights, rides, whatever we can and we go home to wait it out I guess.”

Noah had gone silent.

Two weeks later, Noah sat in his room, where he had spent the majority of the last few weeks. He had caught a flight with Jolly from Ohio to LA, Folio and Ruffilo had rented a car and traveled back to the east coast. They had spent the next few days assessing the damages. All of the money lost on merch and equipment, contacting venues to see if there was any way they could reschedule, and dealing with the pure shock of it all ending so abruptly. Once the phone calls stopped and there was nothing left to figure out, reality finally settled in. Noah was left to deal with his thoughts and the shitty cards that had been dealt to him. It started to take a toll. 

He sat at his desk, the glow of his 3 monitors lighting up the room. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating, before taking the jump and filling out the client information form on the screen in front of him.

Authors Note: Y'ALL WANTED IT SO HERE WE GO!!! I'm expecting this to be pretty long so I will be posting stuff in between chapters when I have time. I really hope you guys like it because I'm really excited about it! If you want to be added to the Taglist  specifically for this story please fill out the link or comment below! MUCH LOVE, Lila <3