#muse;noah

¡Primer mouse de chocolate que quedaba bien! Y no sólo decente porque ahora se encargaba de ponerlo en la vitrina y sólo los mejores postres eran expuestos a la compra. Noah pudo saltar en la pata de la felicidad si no tuviera que mantener la compostura frente a sus superiores y compañeros de cocina. (Incluso había recibido felicitaciones de uno de los chef, ¡¡increíble!! ¡Aquel día no podía salir mejor!)

Justo al terminar de organizar sus pequeñas y hermosas creaciones, Noah se encontró con un rostro familiar al otro lado del vidrio. Entonces se dio cuenta de que sí, aquel día podía mejorar.

-- ¡He-Hey! ¡Hola! ¡Hola! --exclamó con cierto agobio alojado en la garganta de que justo al salir hacia la entrada principal el francés se hubiera ido. Afortunadamente no lo había hecho--. Tanto... Tanto tiempo. Etienne, ¿verdad? No has cambiado nada --un par de pasos y ya le había alcanzado. Noah había perdido su número de contacto y nunca más había tenido la oportunidad de encontrarlo de frente. Hasta aquella vez--. ¿Estás ocupado? ¿Está bien si te invito algo?

who: Noah and Benjy ( @l-appelduvides​ )

Noah drummed his fingers against his belly as he stared up at the ceiling. So far, he’d counted 27 cracks in the plaster. Two cobwebs. One and a half (possible) water stains. 

He couldn’t sleep.

This happened often. His head would be swimming with thoughts, like “remember that time you tripped and your skirt flipped up in grade three, god that was embarrassing huh” and “I wonder if ants make sound, but they’re just too small for us to hear them”. 

And so it would go on for hours until his brain finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

It was too hot, so he slept with his shirt off. But then it was too cold. And it was too hot again when he pulled the blankets over him. He couldn’t win.

He was just considering getting up from the couch to make some tea, when he heard the front door creak open and shut softly. 

Noah went very still; Gilderoy was already home. Was it an intruder? A burglar? No, surely not. It sounded like the person had a key. But what if it was? What if it the person was a murderer? According to the news, London had plenty of those.

Light flooded the room. Noah jolted up into a sitting position, eyes wide and hair sticking up in all directions.

“Don’t kill me!” he blurted out, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. The man was currently stepping over the threshold, and Noah realised (belatedly) that he had a set of keys in his hands. Apartment keys.

“Oh,” he said, dumbly, “You’re... Benjy?” He grimaced and looked away. 

This was awkward.

who: Noah and Rosie ( @rosecoloredmaddox​ )

Noah’s love language was gift-giving.

Now, one might think it was physical touch - which was true, to a certain degree. He did love receiving physical affection. However, what he found even better than that was the rush of endorphins he got from giving his loved ones something thoughtful and watching their faces light up.

There was no better feeling in the world.

He’d been working on Rosie’s gift for a while now - almost as long as he’d known her, which had only been a year at most (not even). After they’d met, they’d clicked immediately - in an easy, familial sense. Like she was an older sister he’d never had. He felt like he’d known her his whole life somehow.

Which was why he’d made her something special.

He threw himself onto the couch next to her (probably startling her unnecessarily) and gave her a grin. He was hiding something behind his back.

“So,” he started, slowly, “I want to give you something.”

who: Noah and Geri ( @xkilljxy​ )

Truth be told, Noah didn’t drink that often. 

Any person would say that he was a raucous party animal within five minutes of meeting him - and while that was true, it didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed getting drunk.

The reason for this was because alcohol made him very melancholy.

He fed into his sadness, sometimes. It was a very very unhealthy habit, but humans - by nature - are prone to sabotaging themselves at the best of times. 

Which is why he found himself in a bar on the anniversary of being disowned, drowning his sorrows in too many beers. He’d had one too many and the edges of his vision were starting to blur. 

A person had just sat down next to him, he’s aware of this much. He turned to face them - and was met with the face of an angel.

“Did I die?” he slurs. 

who: Noah and Dawn ( @spellbxnd​ )

The computer made an unearthly screeching noise just before the screen went blue, then black. Noah could see his reflection in the screen’s surface, mouth agape in disbelief. 

“Stupid... thing!” he hit the side of it out of frustration. To nobody’s surprise, this did nothing to help.

“Remind me why I bother?” he pleaded with Dawn as she emerged from the back of the shop, “This piece of junk is the devil’s work. I’m never going to figure it out.” 

Computers were relatively new on the scene, and they fascinated him. But boy, did they also seem to be driving him up the walls.