Top Posts Tagged with #nogit-june

sun in the shadows (04)

word count; 14,720

summary; after going to dinner with derek and stiles for the study, you and noah get a little more of a chance to bond when you’re left alone.

notes; this part is the longest one (I think?). I was going to split it in two, but there wasn’t exactly a convenient half-way point.

warnings; mentions of panic attacks, mentions of death

“Damn, don’t you look pretty?” Lydia practically purred, back pressed to your door frame as she fanned herself of mock heat, and you paused from where the lipliner you held was sitting over your upper lip. Half-applied, with a matching lipstick on your desk, she winked seductively at you, before grinning widely, and all but skipping into the room. “Dressed up for a hot date?”

“No.” You sighed, continuing the art of lining your lips, the outside standing out a little more, before you were picking up the matching lipstick to pair to it.

“Oh? Then what are you getting dressed up for?”

“I’m going to dinner.” You mumbled through a pout, trying to accurately apply the colour and not smudge it up your face, knowing that it would ruin everything else you had applied, and you’d run late if you had to start over.

“Dinner, huh? You did your hair, you did your makeup, you’re wearing the ‘look at my lips’ lipstick, and a slightly shorter skirt than usual, mind you all your skirts are short an-” You turned, throwing a capped eyeliner at her for her comment, and she complained as it bounced from her forehead, her hand coming up to cover it. “That better not leave a mark! Anyway, you’re wearing all your date attire, so are you sure you’re not going on a date?”

“I’m going to dinner with Stiles and Derek.”

“Oh.” She hummed, leaning back onto her hands as she sat on her bed, seemingly a little disappointed.

“And Noah.”

“Oh.” She smirked again, making you roll your eyes as you blotted your lips on a tissue. Checking you were happy with it all, and running your finger under your eyes to pick up any shadow residue, you were satisfied. “His name comes up a lot nowadays.”

“When? When has it come up?” Her eyes narrowed on you, menacingly for the comment, because you knew she couldn't put an exact date to it. “Besides, we’re doing a study together. His name is probably gonna’ come up a lot, he’s part of my final assignment.”

“Sure, I get that. I just feel there’s something different.”

“That’s probably your juice cleanse.” You teased, setting your make-up with a light layer of mist, and turning to face her. “Okay, for real, how do I look?”

“Why do you care if it’s not a date?” She fired back, picking at her cuticles and staring at you expectantly over her nails, a cheeky flare stitched to her expressions.

“Because I want to look nice, at least!” You scoffed, picking up a small purse and beginning to stuff into it your wallet, keys, phone, ad makeup top-ups.

“For who? The gay brother, the gay brother’s boyfriend? Or, the hot, single, straight brother with the tattoos and the moody fix-me attitude that makes you all flustered?” You stopped, staring at her for a second, before your shoulders slumped.

“Okay, so, maybe I want him to think I’m cute! But, there’s a confusing reason. He doesn’t like me, okay? Everyone likes me, and I just want to know that when I’m in a room with people, they like me, they’re not talking about me behind my back or something! Most boys just like me because I look cute, so, same logic.” You shrugged, fastening the bag and lifting it onto your shoulder, hearing your best friend and roommate let out a slow sigh.

“Maybe, he just likes you because he doesn’t have any friends, and you’re being nice to him.” Your eyes narrowed, sensing something more that she was saying, the gears in her eyes were practically spinning with her thoughts. “So, Aiden told Isaac who told Allison, who told me last night over some wine, that Noah mentioned you the other day.”

“I’m still trying to keep up with that train of people. What the hell was that?”

“He just said that you guys hung out the other day after that whole social fiasco you forced upon him. He talked to Aiden about it, because Aiden takes mechanics with him and they talk about bikes sometimes. Aiden said that Noah said you’re ‘not so bad’.” She shrugged, and you couldn’t help the giggle that passed your lips.

“Lyds, c’mon, you’ve gotta’ be kidding me. You held me back for that piece of information. That I’m ‘not so bad’? He’s told me that, in a variation of those words, at least. Jeez.”

“Yeah, well, most of the time it’s all doom and gloom with him. He’s supposedly talked more since starting this study.” The redhead kept going, and you rolled your eyes, rolling up the sleeves on your cardigan and moving forwards towards your door.

“Probably because I've encouraged him to try and reach out a little more, and promised to help him.” You turned, looking over your shoulder at the girl staring at you from her seat on the mattress. “I’m going out, try not to let friends of friends of friends’ rumours make your head spin anymore.” Your teasing words made her scowl at you, before standing and exiting your room for you to switch off the light. Your door closed, and she wandered away silently towards her bedroom.

You walked in the opposite direction, away towards the front door, and when you looked back, the halls were empty, her door pushed halfway closed. Tugging on your coat and opening the door, you patted yourself down to check you still had everything.

“See you later, Lyds, don’t wait up!”

“Have fun on your date!” She hollered back, voice a little muffled with the distance and the interference, and you scoffed.”

“Not a date!”

The door slammed behind you, leaving you in the corridor, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder and rooting through your bag to find your car keys. They were at the bottom, prompting you to almost drop everything else on the staircase as you hopped down them, trying to keep it all inside as you went.

The air got colder and colder the lower in the building you got, the stony concrete of the steps grating under your boots as you went. You were glad that you’d taken a coat with you upon leaving the apartment, because there was a distinctive chill that only came with the underground car parking lot of your building. Summer or winter, this carpark always seemed to be freezing cold, and sometimes it would flood with water in the early spring months such as these, and so you were grateful that it hadn't today.

You were met with dry pavement as you stepped out, the metal door slamming loudly behind you as you paused, staring around to try and remember where you’d parked your car, and spotting the little red machine at the other end of the complex. There weren’t as many cars to pass by on your walk to it today as there had been the day you’d parked it there, but that was most likely due to it being Friday night.

There was always a lot to do on campus on a Friday night. As the summer threatened to come in and the weather was beginning to clear, making garden parties and barbecues the events to replace game nights and pyjama parties. Pressing down on the unlock button of your keys you waited, standing before a slightly dirty car that could do with a clean. It flashed, but the car didn’t recognise the signal, and it didn’t open up, the door not budging an inch when you pulled on the handle. You tried again, the chirp and flash of dulled lights signalling its recognition but not the action being carried out, and you groaned.

Tossing your head back, you sighed, taking a deep breath, and moving to automatically unlock your car. Opening it up with the key in the lock instead, you had to tug extra hard to free it up, the whole car feeling like it was falling apart. Once you had replaced it with the ignition instead of the door, your bag sitting on the passenger seat and the car sputtering as you attempted to start it up.

The first came flat, a terribly strained sound leaving the engine as it tried to turn over but failed, and you tried again. The second time brought a few jumps from the car, but it fell flat again, and only on the third time did it finally manage to start up. Your radio wasn’t tuned and loud classical jazz came through the speakers, which you turned down, the overuse of trumpets already threatening to bring on a headache. Reversing from the parking spot slowly and checking your mirrors, the journey began.

The dull lighting of the underground parking lot lightened up to natural lighting as you neared the entrance, the entrance on your side of the ramp lighting up to pale grey skies, the evening still fading out from a cloudy day into the night, the sun present behind the clouds. As you reached halfway up the ramp, the car was sputtering again, your lights flashing as the engine threatened to crap out, and your foot pressed down on the peddle more. It wasn’t exactly a struggle of a ramp, it barely counted as an incline, and your car couldn't even handle that now. As you tried to drive up, the engine gave way, everything dropping dead.

Rolling backwards slowly, you fell back into the seat with a huff, waiting for your car to come to a stop. Pulling up on the handbrake, your car came to a stop in the middle of the pathway, and your arms crossed. Staring out for a second, you tried to decide what to do, and the several attempts to restart your engine again just weren’t cutting it now. The time on your phone read that you were due at the restaurant in only ten minutes, the drive itself being fifteen, and you still had a car to sort.

Coming down the opposite ramp was a car holding the four kids that lived in the flat directly above your own, ones you’d interacted with a couple of times but couldn't remember the names of, all of them being only sophomores. They stopped before you, rolling down their window, and you felt a chill of embarrassment strike through you, pulling in your stomach as you had to crack your door open to hear them.

“Odd place to park. You alright?”

“My car broke down trying to get up the ramp.” You muttered, open palm slamming a little against the wheel, and several chuckles came from inside.

“You need a jumpstart?”

“I don’t have cables. You?” The kid inside shook his head, asking around each of his friends, but neither had anything to offer, and he only shrugged.

“Why don’t we try pushing your car into a parking space, for now?” His girlfriend suggested. She was a sweet girl, with streaks of blue in her hair and a shiny nose piercing, and it was the best option you had. “We can park up, and then between the five of us, I think we can push it into a space.”

“Sounds great, thanks, guys.” The kid behind the wheel offered you a salute, and he pulled forwards, making you a little envious of his fully working car as it spun away and momentarily out of sight to park up. It gave you a chance to at least book a cab to arrive within the next few minutes, and you booked one to the restaurant to pick you up from the curbside. Putting your bag onto your shoulder and taking out your keys from the ignition, they were tucked away into your pocket, for now, taking off the handbrake before climbing from the car.

The small group was making the way over, a little chilly without all of their jackets and jumpers, ready to get back inside but still willing to help, and you were more than thankful for that. Both of the back doors were opened and so were the front, the group each taking hold of a door and the roof of the car, as you took a seat behind the wheel again. You seemed to unanimously and silently select a parking space, the one that was closest to the car and only a few metres away.

With five people working on the movement, it wasn’t so hard. The car rolled easily with the force of four people pushing only a small vehicle, but the navigation was hard. It took a couple of minutes to readjust the vehicle into the parking space, and it was still haphazard. It was tucked reasonably well inside of the lines and wouldn't be hit, and you were able to lock it back up.

Your phone chimed in your pocket, signalling you to the arrival of your cab, and the kids were clearly more than eager to get away from the chill. You thanked them again, and made an effort to commit their names to memory, before taking a quick jog up the ramp and out onto the main street, scanning for the cab that was waiting for you. It was sitting on the corner, the car chugging slightly as its engine continued to run, and the slight heels of your boots clicked on the sidewalk as you walked over to it.

The door opened on the first try, unlike your own, the lock and handle working perfectly, and you stumbled a little on the pavement with the force you’d pulled it open with, muscle memory from your own broken vehicle making you tug a little harder than necessary. With a mumbled apology, you asked the cab rider to repeat the name of the booking to you to be sure it was your own, and he did so the destination following. He was moving as soon as you were inside, the door slamming on your side only a second before he took off from the curbside, and you adjusted yourself across the leather, settling back into it.

There was a vague smell of smoke, something overpowered by perfume from the rider before you, and perhaps the one before her had been a smoker because the scent still lingered. Behind that too was leather cleaner, a pinch of citrus under it, and it was an odd combination of smells that made your nose screw up slightly. If it stuck to your clothes, you’d be thrown off all night, and it made you wish you’d brought your perfume with you. You tried to sit forwards, to not lean back into the seats and make more contact with the worn material than you had to, watching the metre tick up in price as the familiar cityscape flashed by.

It wasn’t all that far from the university, and going to school in an urban area expanded just how much you had to do, not restricting you to campus activities. You knew the town well, you knew everything that took place on a fun Friday night, and yet you always were surprised by the traffic and the congestion on the roads that came with it. It felt like there were more people on the roads than there was space to live in the town.

You were thirty minutes late by the time you got there, cheeks flush from a slight jog after telling your driver to simply drop you on the corner of the block instead of queuing in more cars, and the restaurant was warm inside, doing nothing to lessen the flush on your cheeks. The heat from your cheeks at the rush seemed to spread all over your body, and you paused in the doorway, the chatter of the evening crowd meeting your ears as it began to build. The door behind you jingled as it fell shut, and close to the back in a circular booth was Stiles and Noah.

The former twin was chatting animatedly about something you couldn't possibly know and something you probably wouldn't be able to keep up with, four menus sitting out on the table and two empty glasses between the two of them, two more half-drunk drinks with straws and meted ice too, rings on the napkins from condensation, and guilt pooled within you at how long they’d waited.

You navigated between the people, letting the waitress at the front know you were a part of a current booking and you already had a table, guiding yourself through the crowds towards them, and Noah noticed you coming first. He was facing the entrance in his booth, the spare napkin from the pot on the table that he’d been ripping pieces off of was left abandoned, and he straightened up from where he’d slumped over in the black leather seats.

As soon as Stiles realised that Noah’s seemingly captivated attention was gone, he turned to look over his own shoulder, one flannel covered arm coming up over the back of the seat to look, and his face shifted through a myriad of emotions upon seeing you. Relief, surprise, a little shock, and then something cocky as you approached.

“You know, this isn’t fashionably late anymore, this is just late.”

“I know, I know.” You muttered, fingers shaking a little with the haste you applied to trying to undo the tie on the front of your coat to loosen it, and you were able to shuck it down your arms. Stiles took it from you, putting your bag and your coat with the pile he’d built between himself and his brother at the opposite side of the circular booth, and you smoothed down the edges of your skirt. “My stupid car officially crapped out, on the ramp of my building, and I had to push it into a parking space and call a cab.”

You were trying to keep positive, but you could sense your own simmering irritation underneath it all, and your shoulders slumped a little as Stiles snickered. “On the ramp? The ramp with like a half percentage incline? Did you roll backwards and everything?”

“Yes, I rolled backwards. Like, half a metre. I wasn’t spinning around the carpark backwards and screaming like something from Scooby-Doo, like I’m sure you’re picturing.” You shifted, taking a seat beside Noah as Stiles continued to chuckle, and the boy beside you shuffled up a little to make room, pulling his drinks and his pile of torn napkin away to sit in front of him again. Your gratitude was whispered under your vice, turning to look at him, and his lips flicked up at the edges with a gentle nod in acknowledgement.

“You know, as funny as the image is, you should have called. I could have come and picked you up, or something.” His laughter eventually subsided, leaving only his natural concern as a friend to show through, even though you were just fine.

“Don’t you think if I could call, I would have texted to say I was running late?” Your brows raised at him, and the more energetic twin chuckled across from you. “Seriously, you know how crappy the reception is under the building in the parking lot, and by the time I was in the taxi, I was more preoccupied trying to work out why it smelled weird and making sure I wasn’t being kidnapped, or something. I don’t like looking down at my phone in cabs. It only takes two seconds to pull off into a weird alley and be murdered.”

“I thought Stiles was supposed to be the paranoid psychology major.” Noah joked, and your jaw hung a little as you turned to look at him, a smirk on his face but he stared down at the table, his fingertips tapping on the wooden surface anxiously. You shifted, bumping your shoulder against his with a playful scoff, and Stiles sat back in his seat, much like his brother.

“Oh, so the other twin has sarcasm and jokes now, too?” He mumbled, his brother daring to look up and catch his eye, narrowing in a challenging way.

“I had it before you did, I just use it reservedly to be less irritating and make the most of its theatrical shock.” Noah spat back, and you chuckled at the attitude shared between the two of them. You turned to look at him, noticing the way the leather of his jacket blended with that of the seats, almost like a piece of camouflage and you had to try and suppress a chuckle at the thought. “So, uh, what’s wrong with your car?”

Your eyes snapped up from looking at the silver details of the jacket, to where Noah was now risking looking up to meet your eyes, and you turned a little more to him. “The engine. Everything, really, though. The locks are broken and the radio doesn't work, it’s the worst car ever.”

“I’ve been telling you that since second year,” Stiles muttered, the drink in his glass slurping as he sipped through his straw languidly, and you scowled at him.

“I know that, and I never denied it.” He shrugged, picking up his menu and beginning to scan his eyes over it, Noah doing much the same, but he left his sitting flat on the table in front of him. The waitress came over, forcing Noah back into his shell as she took a drinks order for you, going back over the specials that you had missed, and once she was gone, your eyes flicked over the other menu still unattended. “Is Derek coming?”

Stiles looked up, his eyes moving over to it for a second, and he bit down on his lower lip, before offering a smile and looking up. “Maybe. I think so, he said he would but something came up, so he’s not sure when he’ll get here. He says to just get ordering and he’ll add something on when he gets here.”

“If he gets here,” Noah added, and Stiles frowned, glaring at his brother for a second, who never bothered to look up, and there was a lingering tension between the two over the comment that you didn’t quite understand. A cold drink was placed down in front of you, ice clinking against the edges of the glass, and you folded a napkin in half to create a makeshift coaster.

“Well, I’ve never been here before. So, why don’t you tell me what’s good? You picked the place, I assume you’ve been here before.” Your eyes found Stiles’, and he looked utterly shocked at the idea.

“You’ve never been here? It’s so good, though!” He placed his menu down flat, spinning it around to face you, and his finger laid over the starters section. “Well, normally, Noah and I will split a bunch of the starters, so you can join in with that, if you’d like. There are some great choices. Like, the steamed gyoza. They’re all great, so we normally get them all.”

“I like the chicken ones best,” Noah added, and you turned, smiling a little as he chipped in his opinion.

“If you like something spicy, then I’d recommend one of the curries, but the ramen is amazing too. So is the teppanyaki, it’s all amazing, actually.” Stiles was distracted, being to describe and list off all the details of the dishes in detail, and the twin beside you chuckled.

“The teriyaki sirloin steak soba is pretty good.” He whispered, not to interrupt his brother’s flowing speech. You leaned back a little, turning to face Noah some more, and his eyes flickered your dress, taking you in the same way you had him, before swirling brown eyes were settling on yours. “You want to ask something, right? I can tell. Like a sixth sense, I can feel your weird tension.”

“Yeah, I do.” You grinned, letting yourself fully relax into the seat, and Stiles was busy still explaining the intricate flavours of his favourite dish, completely oblivious now of everything else going on around him. “Do I smell weird?”

“That’s your question?” He looked shocked, before he was smiling a little, biting at the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement, but he couldn’t muffle the chuckle. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, dead serious. The cab smelt weird, and now I’m all anxious that it’s all over me!” Stiles paused, both of you looking up as a shadow fell over the table, and Derek was peering down at all of you. He stripped off his coat, tossing it to the other side of the booth to join the rest, and sitting down beside Stiles. There was a drink he’d brought over, clearly having stopped at the bar to pick it up before making his way over. He sat beside his boyfriend, Stiles looking over the moon that he’d made it in time, and you gave them their privacy, turning back to your new friend. “I mean it, Noah, sniff me!”

“I’m not doing that. What if you do smell weird? Then I have to live with knowing that weird smell.”

“You’re the worst.” You huffed, trying to pull up the edge of your shirt to smell it but the lower-cut neckline made it hard, and you huffed, picking up your drink to take a long sip. As you did, icy glass tingling against your fingertips, and Noah leaned over. With a frown, he leaned in, sniffling lightly against your hair, and you froze slightly, letting him do so for a moment. He hesitated, before leaning back, and letting out the slow breath, and shuffling a little. “So?”

You placed your drink down, wiping a finger over your straw to remove possible excess lipstick, and his head fell back against the leather. “You smell good. Like, really good, actually. Can’t smell any weird cab, just whatever perfume you’re wearing. It’s nice.”

“Thanks, I liked it because the bottle had a cute design.”

He scoffed, his eyes rolling, but there was a fonder expression on his face than there had been previously, so you let it slide, hoping your smile wasn’t showing through too clearly. His hand sat atop the table, on a menu that he wasn’t using because he already knew what he wanted, beside a pile of nervously torn up paper. Inked skin was sticking out from the edge of a grey jumper underneath a black leather jacket, the patterns going all the way down to his knuckles, and you trace the designs with your eyes You wanted to reach out, to trace them with your fingers, but you were well-aware how much he hated that and so you resisted the urge.

“I like your finger tattoos. I’ve never had a chance to tell you, but I like them.” His fingers flexed, and then he produced his other hand, a little sigh on his lips as he rested his other hand beside it, skin clear and free of ink, a stark comparison to the other. “They’re pretty cool. They must have hurt a lot, I hear it hurts a lot over the bone. I’ve never been brave enough to get a tattoo, but yours look just.. epic.”

“Thanks. They didn’t hurt so much, you kinda’ get used to it after a coupla’ minutes.” The silence fell between you both again.

After a couple more minutes, listening to the chatter between the men opposite you and scanning over your menu, a waitress coming over to ask if you were ready to order. It was the same girl from before, who you didn’t recognise from your university, and as you looked more, you weren’t sure she was even that age. Maybe she was a high-schooler, or maybe she didn’t go to college at all, but she seemed happy with who she was, a wide smile that didn’t seem fake as she listened to Stiles’ jokes about the menu while taking his order.

She moved around the table, Stiles’ having ordered enough starters to feed a small army, and you ordered a bowl of ramen for your main, Noah ordered something you hadn't had a chance to read about yet and you tried to remember what it was, so you could look the menu up online later. As soon as she was gone, the chatter took up again, your best friend creating enough conversation for all four of you.

Derek didn’t speak much, you’d noticed that in all the times you’d hung out with him over the years. He was much like Noah in that respect, he was quiet and preferred smaller crowds, the company of a very select few, and was often happy - or, willing - to just sit and listen to Stiles talk. “Do they mean anything?”

Noah jumped a little in his seat, clearly lost in his thoughts and you idly wondered how much time he’d previously spent sitting silently and third-wheeling to Stiles and Derek when the energetic twin forced him out. He eyed you, dubiously for your comment, and sitting up a little straighter. His elbows balanced on the table, cheek on top of his hand as he turned to you, and you twisted to give him equal attention. “Is this for your study?”

“Yes.” His shoulders seemingly slumped, and you placed a hand on the table, only an inch from his own, and his eyes moved to it. You hadn't touched him, you knew he wouldn't want that, but you were hoping that he’d be able to recognise that you were still trying to be comforting to him. “I mean, this dinner is. I figured it would make you a little more comfortable to do something more casual, so I left Stiles in charge of it. I thought he’d pick a coffee house or takeout at your place, not this. The tattoos, that's just because I’m curious, and I want to get to know you a little better.”

That only seemed to make him more suspicious, as though it wasn’t plausible that you’d want to know about him, but he gave in. Leaning forwards to take off his jacket, he seemed uncomfortable at the idea of shedding a layer, like it was armour or protection, and rolled up the grey jumper sleeve as far as it could go. It got stuck just below his elbow, the material pulled tight, pale skin covered with delicate black ink and intricate designs, and you felt your breath be stolen at them. You’d never had a chance to observe them up close, and they were beautiful, your fingertips twitching to trace them.

“They’re amazing, Noah.”

“Thanks. Some of them I designed, some of them I didn’t. I got a full sleeve, it looks pretty cool, I think. I don’t want the other side doing. At least, not yet.” He lifted his arm, upper arm sitting over your hand as he moved close enough for you to see the details. Turning your hand around to be able to hold his arm gently, the skin under your fingertips was warm, gathered from under two layers of closing in a warm restaurant, and his muscles twitched involuntarily under your touch. “Do you want to know which ones I designed myself?”

“You bet I do.”

He smiled a little at that, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. “Well, I’m not so great at drawing. So, I just came up with some ideas and the artists did a lot of the actual artwork. I have this one on my forearm-” His arm flipped over, fingers wrapping a little around your wrist as he showed you the back of his arm, dark hairs growing in slightly thinner patches than the other through that of the damage to the pores from ink. “-I made this one because I got inspired by a cool dragon on one of Stiles’ online multiplayer fantasy game things, but I wanted it to be more.. mechanical, I guess.”

“It reminds me of your motorbike. It feels very you.”

“It makes me think of my motorbike, too.” The edges of his lips quirked up, and he paused for a second, the inching out of his shell that he’d done for a second was already beginning to retract when plates were placed down against the wood. He was jolted out of the safe bubble he’d created, his fingers loosening on your arm as he made to sit back, and your grip on him tightened slightly. He looked to you, a single flash of slight insecurity passing over once again neutral features, and you paid the waitress no mind, Stiles doing enough public chatting for you.

Your other hand came up, instead, tracing lightly over a bouquet of tulips, all in black and white but these were the only tattoos to have even a hint of colour, very pale splashes of orange and pink tracing along the edges of the black and leaving outlines to the flowers, fading away into stems that wrapped around his wrists. You traced them, his fingers flexing and tightening again on your arm as he relaxed. “What about this one? It’s really pretty.”

“That was my first one, actually. I got it for my mom, they were her favourite flowers. She likes red and pink tulips. My dad says it’s because she thought they clashed, and you aren’t supposed to put pink and orange together, but she liked things that clashed. She’d always tell my dad that the things that aren’t supposed to go together are usually the things that go the best together. She was, well, losing it a little at the end, but I still think pink and orange look good.”

“You two gonna’ eat or what? Because I’ll eat all of this, and my main. I’ll do it.” Stiles interrupted, and Noah slinked his hand away, his arm falling back down under the table and pulling down his sleeve.

“You could not, you dumbass. You’d tap out before you got through it all.” You teased, grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the side of the dish and snapping them apart, adjusting them in your fingers, before picking up a dumpling. “These are the chicken ones, right?”

“Yeah, now try it. I want to see your reaction.” He pushed, Noah leaning over with his own chopsticks and dunking them into the sauce in the middle. You followed suit, letting the sauce drip from the end and turning it in your grip. There was silence around the table, all waiting on your reaction, and you did so. Taking a bite from the tip, you gave it a second, chewing it slowly, and taking in the flavours. Stiles’ brows couldn't get any further into his hairline without straining himself, and you giggled, swallowing the mouthful and nodding your head.

“Okay, I get it now. This is really good, I don’t know how I’ve survived without this all my life.”

It was an exaggeration, and just what Stiles wanted to hear, your best friend seemingly chuffed with himself at the praise. The starters were shared between you, the tall and moody athlete across from you eating the most, followed by Stiles, who somehow managed to eat a disproportionately large portion of food for the amount of chatting he did, and then Noah. He had pulled a few of the plates over to your side of the table, trying to get them out of Stiles’ reach so that you could at least get to try one of everything, and it wasn’t a gesture that went unnoticed.

Once the empty plates had already been cleared, you were beginning to feel full already, and your fingers laced over your stomach as you leaned back in your chair. You’d rarely indulged in this kind of food, Asian food was something that had always been hit or miss with you, but this was filling you up faster than anything and you couldn't stop eating because it was so good. The restaurant itself was small and crowded, as many tables packed in, with low lighting and leather booth seats. It had pretty pictures of famous artists and signed frames, with newspaper cutouts from the 80s with positive reviews when it had been founded, the hidden gem being something special that you wished you’d known of before.

Staring around the people you were with, your heart felt full, a warm atmosphere with jokes and chatter from your friend, listening to Derek and Stiles playfully bicker with an argument you weren’t sure how it had started. You’d almost forgotten why you were there, the peaceful presence of Noah beside you now that the animosity was cleared, a tentative friendship threatening to start, and the energetic presence of your best friend. You loved Stiles, and he seemed to love constant action and thrill, but sometimes you preferred the vibe that Noah had, the calmer one that centred around having enough quiet to just be with your thoughts.

“Can you pass me my bag?” You whispered, head turning to Noah from where it as leant against the leather, and he nodded, reaching across for the small purse and passing it over to you. You’d forgotten your recorder, but there was a voice notes app on your phone and so you could make do. Taking out your phone, and passing it back, you waved it a little to Stiles, placing it down in the middle of the table. The hush fell over you all, clinking plates and background noise chatter of other patrons to fill their gap, but the people around the table were quiet.

Noah sighed beside you, something vaguely like disappointment and a little chill ran through you at the sound, pooling like guilt in your stomach, before you hit record. You didn’t even have a chance to speak, to talk them through the usual introductions that you’d used a couple of times already, before Stiles was beating you to the point.

“Stiles Stilinski, full permission to be recorded, but only my voice. I’m a radio star, baby.” He winked dramatically at the end, tapping his fingers on the table, and you rolled your eyes at his antics. Your eyes turned to Noah, and he cleared his throat slightly, leaning in toward the phone to speak his information.

“Uh, Noah Stilinski. Permission to be recorded.” You smiled, trying to comfort him slightly when he pulled back, scratching under his jaw with his anxiety, and you were starting to learn his ticks and tells.

“Great, I just-”

“Derek Hale, full permission to be recorded.” Your friend’s boyfriend chipped in, and you grinned at him, a toothy smile that you rarely saw poking through on a stubbled jaw.

“Well, thanks for joining us for this one, Derek. All questions will be about you now, of course.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He played along, making you grin a little, and Stiles rested an arm over his boyfriend’s shoulder, the two settling in for the questions that were to come.

“So, first question; what’s up with the nickname ‘Stiles’? I’ve never asked, but I want to know. I also want to know why you get such a weird nickname and Noah never did? You must’ve been a weird kid.” Stiles beamed, wickedly, leaning forwards as he prepared for a story, and Noah groaned beside you lightly, only spurring the laughter between you and Derek. “Feels like it’s story time.”

“First off, Stiles is an awesome nickname. Don’t hate, you wish you had a nickname this cool.” He mocked, fingers lacing on the table as he sat forwards. “And secondly, ‘Noah’ is a nickname too.”

“‘Noah’ is a name?” You turned to face the brother whom the name belonged to, raising a brow, and he shrugged a little. “It’s a nickname?”

“We both have Polish names. Stiles is only called ‘Stiles’ because he’s lazy with nicknames and couldn’t put ‘mischief’ on his school forms when he was younger.”

“Mischief?” You echoed, feeling a little lost, and a fond look crossed over both of their faces as you said it.

“Me and Noah were like mini-partners in crime when we were little. My mother nicknamed us ‘naughty’ and ‘mischief’ after our Polish names. Mine is Mieczysław. So, I went with Stiles because it was the first nickname that came to mind after my mother died and I made our dad call us by new nicknames, and it stuck.” He shrugged, sitting back to sip his drink, and a lower atmosphere settled over the group. You hadn't expected to even broach the topic of their mom until later in the study, it was a topic that you were dreading having to bring up despite how relevant it was, because you’d seen how Stiles got when her anniversary or her birthday came around.

“So, what’s your name, Noah?”

He stared for a second, a slight grimace taking over like he didn’t connect much to his Polish roots, and perhaps he just didn’t like to think about them. Despite ‘Stilinski’ being an unusual name, it was his mother’s side that held his Polish ancestry, not his father’s. “Nowaweis.”

He spoke through a slight accent, not the Americanised way Stiles poke his name, but with a genuine tilt to the words, the way his mother must’ve taught him, and his jaw snapped shut after speaking the word. It rattled around your brain, you weren’t sure you’d heard it correctly at all, but you could see where he’d pulled ‘Noah’ from it. “Like, No-wa-wise?”

His head shook, lips daring to twist slightly into something more positive, and his head tipped up slightly from staring at the table. His eyes were locked on your own, that bubble of security formed around you both again as he corrected you; “No, like, ‘vice’ at the end, not ‘wise’. Pronounce it like No-wa-vice.”

“Nowaweis.” You repeated, slowly, sounding out the syllables like he’d told you, and his brows loosened from a seemingly permanent furrow as he nodded. He looked a little softer like this, the lines along his forehead smoothing out, and you’d only ever seen him like this before when he was high, letting his fears and restraints go behind the sealed door of his own bedroom. “Nowaweis. I like it.”

“Thanks, I don’t think about it a lot anymore.”

“Well, I think you should, it’s sweet.” His gaze stuck to yours for a second longer, eyes narrowing in that same way you were used to now, knowing he wasn’t glaring at you or judging you, just trying to work you out. “So, tell me about the two of you when you were kids. I want to hear about the origin of your ‘naughty’ and ‘mischief’ nicknames.”

That seemed to be the key for Stiles. As soon as you’d cracked that door open by an inch, he had blown it right off of its hinges in his excitement. He told you all about what he and Noah got up to when they were little, the antics of swapping clothes to confuse their parents, and taking tests for one another. Stories of scaring and pranking anybody who didn’t know there was two of them, and all about how they would stick together through thick and thin.

When Stiles got lice in third grade and had to shave his head, Noah had done so with him, and his mother had shaved both of their heads for them in the bathroom that night before taking them out for ice cream. He told them about both getting their first tattoos done together in their senior year of high school, and how Noah had been afraid to get it done alone. Stiles had passed out at the sight of the needle, with only half a tulip done on the back of his shoulder, and Noah had to hold him down to get it finished, only one flower being able to be done before he’d tapped out.

Stiles also told you about the bedroom they’d shared at home before moving to a bigger house, and how their dad had painted it directly down the middle to make it an even split. He spilt jokes about Noah’s gothic phase in high school when he’d painted every wall and the ceiling in his room black, and all of his furniture, and for a while, Noah had teased him back. Your cheeks had ached from giggling as you listened to the pair talk about their childhood and growing up.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, the mains had been delivered, and you’d tucked in and enjoyed, and Stiles had told you all about their first month in college when they discovered this place. Before Stiles had started his podcast, a name which you now understood, the title ‘Mischief’s Mic’ never having made much sense to you before, and before Noah’s reputation had grown. Once they’d moved onto the topic of college, it was more just Stiles talking, and Noah adding a few hums and mumbled confirmations whenever he was drawn into the discussion, but busying himself with eating instead.

Once the plates had been cleared, and the gap between you all was left over an empty table and a drinks refill, Stiles moved on to talking about his mother. A sombre mood set over everyone, and you listened as Stiles explained about his mother.

It was heart-wrenching, and your eyes stung a little with a burn in the back of your throat as you tried not to cry because while you hadn't known Stiles as a child, it was like you were looking at him. As he told you about how much he loved her, and all the fun things she used to do with Noah and himself, and he was vulnerable. It was like you were looking at a young Stiles. He was a child again, teary eyes and scared and hurt as he talked about his mom, and he held your hand across the table.

He was delicate and fragile, and Noah seemed to be closing back up behind you, and once he was finished and he’d walked you slowly through the development of his mother’s decline in health to the last day he’d been to visit her and talk about graduation, you couldn't help but let a tear go. He told you he’d told her all about you too, and the friends he’d made, because he liked to believe that somewhere she was still watching him. Noah didn’t agree with that, Noah didn’t like to talk to her, or to pretend she was still there, which hurt him more. He preferred to visit her, and sit quietly, and remember when she really was there, instead of kidding himself, and the table fell into quiet.

Dessert menus were sitting out in front of all of you, had been for almost an hour but nobody had looked down at them, and the waitress had clearly realised what was going on after a second time coming over to ask, because she glanced up occasionally from the desk she worked at, to see whether it was time to come over.

When five minutes of silence had passed on the clock, and all the drinks around the table were once again sitting empty, Stiles broke the silence again. He stood up, wiping at salt-irritated red cheeks and stuffing the wet napkin he’d used to mop his cheeks into his pocket. The blinking light on your phone showed it was still recording, and he let out a weak and raspy laugh. “Okay, well, I’m going for a wiz and then I’m getting two desserts, because I deserve it.”

“Sounds good.” You smiled, unable to help how guilty you felt over it all, and Stiles seemed to sense it.

“Hey, it’s fine. I like talking about her, it’s just sad. I knew these questions would come up when I agreed to do your study, before you’d even come up with these questions.” He reached over, leaning across the booth to pull you into a hug, and you squeezed him tightly. You loved your best friend, and even though he was the sad one, he was comforting you. He’d always been selfless that way. When he pulled back, it was with the usual bright smile he always wore, his typical personality peeking through the storm clouds like warm sunshine once again. “Babe, can you get me another drink while I’m gone? And tell the waitress we’re gonna’ order soon. I need sugar.”

“Normally I’d disagree, you’re hyper enough as it is, but we’ll let it slide this time.” You teased, and Noah let out a vague huff of a laugh beside you as Derek chuckled, and Stiles scowled, flipping you off as he walked away. Derek excused himself from the table a moment later, taking the empty glasses away to the bar to get his boyfriend a new drink. You were left alone with Noah, the silence falling over you both, and you turned to face him, his finger flicking at the edge of the menu as he stared at it, but he wasn’t reading it. He looked a little dissociated, a frown on his face. “You okay, Noah?”

He looked up, eyes a little dull for a moment, before he took a deep breath, straightening up from where he’d slumped over. “Yeah, I’m okay?”

“You sure?” You dared to reach out, pressing your hand down over the edge of the menu upon which his fiddling had increased. He stopped, your hand resting over his as it was hidden underneath the menu.

“Yeah, really.” He turned to face you some more, an attempt at a smile on the edges of his lips. “I just hate thinking about my mom. I also hate thinking about how close I used to be with Stiles, but we’re not so much anymore.” He sighed, his other arm bracing on the back of the bench behind your head, fingers picking at the leather slightly beside your head, and you leaned against the leather. He stopped picking, but his hand never moved, nails scratching the fabric until it was lay flat.

You wanted to ask, to question a little further, but there was a peppy voice behind your head, and you jumped a little at the sound of your name. Turning around, Noah folded back in on himself, his hand sliding out from underneath your own and his other arm sliding back down protectively until his arms could fold over his chest, and he could turn back to stare at the desserts menu to avoid any social interaction.

“Hey, Leigh! What are you doing here?”

“Final project meetings. We decided to meet once a month to go over our experiment. We go out, we talk about microbes and things that make the servers look at us weird, you know. One of the girls heard about this place from Stiles. It's nice!” She was sweet, and you remembered Lydia telling you about how she’d met Leigh at one of her annual science conventions. She was a transfer to this university two years ago and Lydia had gushed about the girl she’d met during that science program for months to come, before they’d even started dating properly.

Next to you, Noah felt a little tense, you could practically sense the uncomfortable anxiety that was rolling off of him in waves, and you wished you could comfort him. He didn’t like being touched so much, but he’d adjusted to it slightly, and he’d made the effort to comfort you the last time that you’d overwhelmed him in a social situation. You tried to keep up with what Leigh was saying, explaining something about the study of molecules or bacteria as she explained her project, and while there was a fixed smile on your face with the occasional nod and hum, your mind was preoccupied.

“That sounds awesome, it really does. Have you told Lydia about it, yet? She goes nuts for science, she’d love to hear about it.”

“She helped me come up with the idea.” Derek slid back into the booth, brows raising a little at the women he didn’t know, offered a polite smile and setting down two new drinks on the counter, sipping his slowly. “I’ll catch up with you later, alright? Enjoy your meal.”

She was wandering away, leaving you to slump back into the seat, your head turning back to your shy new friend. He was frowning, staring down at his menu with fists clenched under the table, an expression on his face like he was internally berating himself. He was hunched over slightly, protecting himself against the environment around him, and you recognised it this time. He was getting overwhelmed, it was all too much, the emotions and the crowds, the noise as the place filled up for a Friday evening as the tables were all taken and the bar was full of weekend drinkers already, and it was louder than it had been when you’d arrived.

Stiles came back over, washed his hands smoothing them down over his jeans to get rid of any excess water and he gasped excitedly at his drink. “You guys choose what you want?”

“The orange cheesecake looks pretty good.” It was the first thing that caught your eye as you looked down, and you were sure it would be lovely, only confirmed by Stiles as he groaned loudly and approvingly at the idea. “Can you guys order it to go, for me? It’s a little loud in here. I’m getting a headache, I’m gonna’ go for a little walk.”

“Are you sure, we can just leave, if you want?” Stiles sat forwards, worry now flashing on a freshly washed face, the red of his tears being gone.

“I’m totally sure, stay here and enjoy your double-desserts.” He nodded, settling back but still seeming concerned, and you picked up your phone, turning it off and pulling it closer. “Noah, you wanna’ come with me?”

He perked up, head snapping up from scratching at the loose wood on the edge of the table, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Cool.” You smiled, standing up and brushing down any free crumbs to the floor, your legs aching a little from being sat down for so long. Noah followed, shrugging his jacket back up his arms, before taking your coat too. Holding it out for you, you tucked your arms into it backwards, letting him lift it up to sit on your shoulders. You left your bag where it was, trusting it with Stiles and Derek, just taking your phone in your pocket. “Remember to get me an orange cheesecake to go. I’ll be looking forwards to it.”

“You got it, pumpkin.” Stiles winked, shooting a finger fun, and you nodded, stepping towards the exit.

Noah followed beside you, and as soon as the pair of you had stepped out onto the quiet streets. As soon as you’d left the restaurant, he let out a slow breath, relieved by the cold and the quiet, less stuffy and overwhelming than being inside. “Which way do you want to go?”

“Uh, left?” He glanced around, that way seeming to have the least people, and you nodded, falling into step beside him as the two of you began to wander along the sidewalk. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Yeah, well, I was avoiding a repeat of last time. It’s hard to apologise with pizza when you’re stuffed full already.” He snorted a gentle laugh, bumping his arm against yours, and silence fell between you both again. Peering up at him, shadows were cast over his face, the streetlights overhead making his features stand out more, the lines on his forehead from his furrowed brow were making everything appear darker and a little more shadowed. The frown on his face made it seem like he was always in a bad mood, giving him his reputation, but really, it was just fear. “Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel like I’m crawling in my own skin when people stare at me.” He huffed, turning to look a little more at you, and you came to a stop, staring at one another in the street. “See? How do you feel now?”

“I feel fine, because I know you’re just staring at me to make a point. You’re not judging me. But I am worrying that you can see my pores now, so stop it.” You covered up your nose, and he grinned, the point made. He turned back, taking a few steps ahead of you on the walk and making you jog to catch up to his long strides. “However, you should know that I wasn’t staring to judge you.”

“Then why were you, huh? Most people don’t stare unless they’re judging something.”

“I think you’re kinda’ cute. I think you’d be cuter if you stopped frowning so much, because it makes you look sad, and you have a pretty smile. I’ve seen it now, and I like it.” His eyes narrowed, turning to look at you, and he licked over his lips. Tucking his hands into his pockets, his shoulders squared a little in discomfort as he tried to work out what to say.

“Are you, like, flirting with me? I can’t tell. Ever.”

“I’m not a subtle flirter. If I was, you’d know. But, you are cute, okay? Stop frowning so much.” The look on his face lessened, a pale pink barely present on his cheeks. You could only pick it out in the seconds that emerged from the shadows under the street lights, but he seemed a little more at ease as he stared at the cement.

“I look exactly the same as Stiles, but something about him makes people all flirty, and something about me makes people want to leave.” You were a little stunned by his confession, wandering along beside him in silence for a while and turning the corner at the end of the street, crossing over the road carefully.

“I think they just like his confidence. People like confidence because they think that then their partner will always call up to order food or talk to the doctor’s office for them to make appointments.” You joked, and he turned to look at you, a weak smile in response. “I’m serious, Noah. There’s nothing wrong with you, they just like Stiles because he’s loud and makes people laugh a lot.”

“Exactly, I can’t do that.”

“Not everyone wants that. The guys on the football team are great, but they’re so loud and busy all the time and I like going to parties as much as everyone else-”

“Except for me.” He interjected, and you bumped him back like he’d done to you, making him stumble slightly, and come back to elbow you lightly as he came back.

“Yeah, except for you.” You giggled, and you dared to lace your arm with his, sneaking your hand through the crook in his elbow, until your arms were locked together. Instead of the rejection of stiffness that you’d expected, he just tightened his arm with yours, pulling you a little closer in the cold of the night. “I just mean that being social with everyone is fun, and all, but not when I’m in downtime. I like to relax, and have some quiet. Too much of the crowds makes my head spin.”

“You know, when we’re on our own, I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks. I think you’re pretty cool, too.” He smiled, a genuine smile, and you brought up your other arm, holding onto him and letting your head rest against his shoulder as you continued to walk. The evening chill was beginning to bite a little at your nose and the tips of your ears, but you didn’t mind, it was a refreshing change to the flush you’d had in the heat of the restaurant. “So, can I asking you something?” He only hummed, and you reached your free hand into your pocket, finding your phone again, and wrapping your fingers around the device, pulling it free. “Is that what you meant before? When you said about how you didn’t feel so close to Stiles anymore?”

His eyes flicked down to the phone in your hand, his shoulder’s slumping slightly. “This for the study, right?” He sounded disappointed, and you looked down to your phone, turning the recording session you’d paused back on, and you swallowed. You could only nod, staring down at the device, and his arm laced with yours squeezed a little. “It’s fine, I signed up for it.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I’m having such a nice time tonight, and I keep ruining it by bringing up the study.”

“We’re out for the whole purpose of this. It’s how you’re gonna’ graduate. It’s important.” He shrugged, your arm moving with his, and you sighed. “I feel in Stiles’ shadow a lot. But, I also feel like his shadow. Y’know?”

“Not really.” You mumbled, confused as to what he meant, and he laughed a little. The road before you ended, a ‘T’ junction ahead, and you both paused, glancing each way. Checking the time on your phone, you showed it to him, tapping the top of the screen, and turning him around, slowly walking back towards the restaurant.

“I just feel dark and moody compared to him. You and him, you’re all bright like sunshine and everyone love that, but I can’t do that. I wasn’t always like this. He started college with me on equal levels and he took off and became this, like, awesome guy, and left me behind in the dirt.” He kicked at a pebble on the floor, seeming down again. You turned off the recording on your phone, putting it in your pocket again. “I was so excited for college, I thought it was going to be great, and instead, I let myself become nothing.”

“Hey! Would you cut that shit out?” He jumped a little, eyes widening at the rise in your voice and the tone you took, and he came to a stop, your arm leaving his as he turned to look at you. Overcoming his initial shock, his eyes narrowed on you, and your brows rose, hands on your hips.

“Excuse me?” He hissed the words out, seemingly seething, and you held your ground under his anger this time.

“I said cut it out. You’re not nothing, okay?” His face softened a little, but his lips remained pursed, tightly. “You’re the twin who helped me pick up all my books when they got knocked out of my hands by a rude senior in our first couple weeks, and one of my first friends, even if you didn’t speak to me after that. You're the guy who agreed to help me with my graduate study even though it’s hard for him, and it digs up uncomfortable stuff. You’re the guy who gave me all his diamond armour on Minecraft after I fell in that lava because mobs spook me. You’re an awesome guy, don’t let anyone ever tell you any differently.”

He stared for a second, despite how much he’d protested against it, and you turned away from his gaze, your sights moving to the floor for a few seconds. Taking a step back and moving forwards back toward the restaurant, but his arm locked around your arm. Pulling you backwards, you glared at his hand, making you fall a little bit, before tattooed knuckles fell away. “You didn’t have to yell.”

“You don’t listen to me until I yell at you.” He grinned, that inked hand coming back up to sit against your waist, skin burning through under your coat and fingertips flexing against your waist, until he was pulling you closer. His hand smoothed further around your body, until it was sitting on your lower back, the other arm lacing around your shoulders, and he pulled you in. As the smell of his cologne hit your senses, his chin hooked over your shoulder, your forehead pressed to his, and he squeezed you when your arms wrapped around him in return.

He was warm, a lot warmer than you were seeing as he was only wearing a jacket, and you figured that the leather must really trap in the heat, because you weren’t sure you’d be faring so well in just your cardigan if you’d forgotten your coat. His cheek rubbed against the top of your head when he moved, tipping his head slightly, and the stiffness slipped from him as he exhaled. His heart was thudding slowly in his chest, a lot calmer than yours was as this step was taken, and you tried to steady yourself.

“This is nice.” You eventually confessed, trying to shift your arms to hold him a little tighter linking them behind his back as the smooth leather rubbed against bare skin.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, hand rubbing up and down your back a little. “I don’t get many hugs.”

“Because you don’t like people touching you!” You teased, and he pinched at your side, holding on for a second longer before pulling back, and leaving one arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked close to his side as you began your walk again.

“I actually love hugs. Touch is nice, it’s grounding. I just don’t like being touched by people who I don’t really know, or like.” You lifted your hand, patting the one of his that was sitting comfortably over your shoulder, and he rubbed a finger gently over any space he could reach in return. “Do you even know how many people gave me unwarranted hugs and handshakes and messed with my hair or patted my shoulder when my mom died? My dad is the Sheriff of a small town, everyone knew, and everyone wanted to show their sympathies, but it was suffocating. Maybe that’s where my issues with crowds began, being so overwhelmed like that when I was so vulnerable. That feeling of it all being too much after that never really went away.”

“Damn, you sure I’, the psychology student?”

“I know. You should have had your recorder out. Too bad you didn’t, now that fact is gone with the wind.” He grinned, a toothy smile as he glanced over at you when you laughed, the buzz of the long street holding your restaurant coming back into sight. You pulled out your phone to text Stiles and let him know you were back and waiting outside, before Noah was pulling your attention back to himself once again; “You know, since I’m helping you with your graduate exam, maybe you can help me with mine?”

“Sure! What d’ya need me to do? Like, hold a torch and stand over an engine for you?” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, but the smile on his face never left.

“Let me fix your car?”

“I bought that car for, like, two hundred bucks when I accepted this college placement. I don’t even drive it home when I go to visit. It was just for getting around while I was here, and it’s lasted me almost all four years. It’s not worth fixing.” You challenged, watching as the door not too far away from you opened and closed with patrons, warm light and laughter spilling into the street, but it never disturbed you from the moment you were in. “So, how exactly would fixing up that piece of junk help you?”

“Well, it’s a non-starter. It’ll look good on my applications if I can get a car from nothing started back up. If you don’t even keep it after leaving college, sell it to another campus kid who needs a ride.” His arm slipped down from your shoulders as you got closer to the crowds, nerves beginning to creep back in, and you linked your arm with his again, trying to silently reassure him. “Look, I don’t think you should have to get weird-smelling cabs around when you’re so close to being done. Let me have it towed to my garage space, my tutor will confirm it’s totally fucked and put it on my record. I can use the parts college allows me, you can do your study and question me while I fix your car, and it won’t cost you a thing. It's a win-win.”

“You really want to fix my car for me? For free?”

“It benefits me, too.” The pair of you came to a stop, just clear of the door, and you considered it.

“You know, you put out this whole moody thing, but you’re a sweetheart deep down.”

“And even deeper down, I’m just a cold bitch.” He joked, glancing over when the bell above the door chimed again, strangers walking out. “So, what do you say? Not like it’s doing anything down there in your building's parking lot, anyway. Might as well let me play around with it and see if I can fix it.”

“Sure, if you want to.” You confirmed, and he grinned, moving to step a little closer to you, before the tingling bell sounded again, and Stiles was hopping out onto the street.

“This bag suits me way better than it suits you. Check me out, I’m cat-walk ready.” Over your shoulder was your purse, and he modelled it dramatically, strutting across the pavement towards you like a runway model, and he slipped it down to hand it back to you as he stopped. In Derek\s hands was a box, your cheesecake inside, and you made to grab for it excitedly as soon as your bag was on your shoulder. You peeked inside, taking a sniff of the citrus scent that made your stomach clench with excitement, before sealing it back up. “You need a ride home? I can take you, the Jeep is clean, I swear it.”

“I’ve learned not to trust that lie before. The hard way.” You mumbled, turning to look at the bright blue car parked only a little way down the street, and Noah’s bike was parked on this side of the road, propped up on its stand with a security buckle around one wheel. “You know, I think I’ll go on the bike, actually.” Stiles brows shot up, shock on his face, and he looked exactly like his twin as you turned to the leather-clad one. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Definitely okay. Cool with me, but, are you sure?”

“It’s new. Exciting. Probably terrifying. But, since I’m pushing you out of your limits, it wouldn't be fair unless I did the same, right?”

‘You’re really something, huh?” He beamed, taking the box of cheesecake from your hands, and Stiles was digging through his pockets for his keys.

“Okay, well, I hope you have the ride of your life,” Stiles smirked, leaning in to place a friendly kiss on your cheek as he bid you goodbye, and turning to look at his brother. “You kids have fun now. I won’t bother waiting up, Noah.” He finished his statement with a wink, being dragged away by Derek as he groaned, and Noah only rolled his eyes, before turning to you.

“Like, one hundred percent, sure?”

“One hundred and ten.” Your promise was made, and he took the key to the lock from his jacket pocket, letting you adjust your bag again to contain your phone and everything else from your pockets, putting it down. Crouching down to undo the lock, he took it carefully from through the heel, the heavy misshapen object that stopped it from moving now being liberated. Lifting the compartment on the back of his bike, he produced an extra helmet for you, leaving it open for you to put your bag and the box inside, sealing it up tightly once it was done.

He lifted the spare helmet up, placing it over your head and smoothing hair back out of your face for you, before he was taking the straps and fastening them under your chin, fingers smoothing over the skin of your neck light as he did, and your breathing hitched. Once it was done up, he gripped each side, giving your head a little shake in the helmet, making you laugh as he did. “How’s it feel?”

“Pretty good. Like my head wouldn’t be shattered to pieces if we came flying off.”

“That’s not gonna’ happen, I promise.” He turned away from you, zipping up the front of the leather jacket until it was tight up to his body, and you secured your coat a little tighter to copy him.

“Where’s your helmet?” He patted the seat, undoing the latch and lifting it to reveal a much cooler helmet than the navy blue one you wore. Sleek black with red detailing and a visor, and you couldn't help the sound you made, as you looked at it. “Ooo, I like it.”

“Thanks.” His eyebrows wiggled a little, pulling it on and fastening it, pushing the visor up so that he could see you. After double-checking the locks on the seat and the back-box, he swung his leg over it, straddling the seat and leaving ample space behind himself for you. “Swing your leg over, get comfortable, and when you’re ready, we’ll go, okay?”

You stood for a second, staring at the bike, and he braced his arms across the handlebars, crossed over as he waited. His eyes scanned along you, lips parting to speak and he took a breath, but you beat him to it; “I’m not freaking out, I promise. Just trying to work out the best way to get my leg over that bike without flashing the street. This skirt isn’t flexible, it’s denim.”

His eyes dropped to the skirt, and a loud laugh left him as he dropped his forehead to his arms, body shaking with his laughter. Lifting your leg, you figured ‘fuck it’ and you’d just go for it, swinging your leg over the bike as your skirt rode up, and once you were settled over the seat, you adjusted it back down. Shuffling slightly against it, your toes barely touched the concrete now that you were straddling the bike, and he sat back up.

“Okay. I got this. It’s fine.”

“Put your feet in the little cubbies.” He motioned down, and you peered down beside your legs, finding two little spaces for you to tuck your toes against off the floor, and it felt odd to put all your balance in the hands of another person, knees bending as you perched atop the bike. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Feels weird. Like, if you pick your feet up, we’re going to topple over.”

“You mean, like this?” He lifted his feet, putting them on the edge of the back, and a shriek left you beyond your control, the lack of momentum scaring you, and your hands dropped to his waist. Gripping tightly at the leather you thought your hands might burst right through it, your eyes screwing up as you waited to fall. It never came, only more laughter from Noah, and when you were finally brave enough to open your eyes again, you huffed, his body shaking under your hands.

“Don’t do that to me! I thought we were gonna’ fall!”

“The support is still on, we aren’t going anywhere ‘til it’s kicked up!” He was grinning again, you could see it in the reflection of the mirrors, and your heart was still racing in your chest. Leaning forwards and trying to take an inhale that wasn’t shaky, the top of your helmet-clad head rested between his shoulder blades. His hands came down, fingers curling around your wrists, and he sat up straight, forcing you back up, too. “You’re going to want to hold on a little tighter than that.”

He pulled your arms around, your body following as you slid down the seat, front pressed up to his back, and your arms sitting tightly over his stomach. The leather under your fingertips was smooth, the deep coloured material under your palms becoming handfuls of it as his fingers over your hands curled them into fists.

“There you go. Now, I’m gonna’ start the bike up, but I won’t take the brakes off or the clamp, alright?”

“Okay.” You mumbled, eyes closed as your forehead remained pressed against his back, feeling the bike rumble to life underneath you. The vibrations were similar to a car, different to what you’d expected and you shifted, thighs tightening around the bike in a fierce grip as you tried not to let the fear take over. “I feel so unprotected. There are no walls. I’m gonna’ fly right off.”

“That’s why you hold on tight, you’ll be fine. I promise I won’t read into it.”

“That’s not what I was worried about, ‘til now!” You groaned, only fuelling his entertainment, and you rapidly decided that his laugh was something you wanted to hear more often. Deep and rumbling, there was something rich about it that couldn't be faked, unlike a lot of what you had nowadays. “Okay, you know what? Just do it. No count down or nothing. Just go. Or else we’re gonna’ sit here all night.”

“You sure?” The bike rumbled a little, and he revved it, shifting a little as he stood up some more, and you didn’t bother to look.

“I am total- oh my God, Noah!” The air whipped past your face as he took off from the curbside, a lot faster than a car would, and the scenery was melting away in the only two seconds that it took for your eyes to come open in shock, and you squeezed yourself as close to him as you possibly could. “Oh, fucking hell, this is so much worse than I imagined.”

“What?” He yelled it, unsure of the words you’d said as you whispered to yourself, and he slowed down as the traffic lights at the end of the long road turned red, queuing up between two cars. Daring to lift your head you let out what you were holding onto, your fingers remaining like a death grip against his jacket.

“I said, I’m totally gonna’ die.”

“You’re not gonna’ die, I’ve got you. Now, we have to turn at the next corner. When we turn, we lean. Just lean with me, okay?” Your grips tightened involuntarily, the bike revving again as the light turned yellow, and you felt him chuckle, the sound drowned out by the engine. “Trust me. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Okay.”

The light flashed green, and you were in motion again, flying off down the road. This time, you tried to keep your head up, to peer around a little, and taking in the scenery flying by. It was harder to focus on than in a car The wind in your eyes made them water at first, you were blinking in a dizzying array, and every lean around a corner made your head spin, fear creeping back in, but by the fourth or fifth time, you were adjusting a little better.

Your fingers released his jacket halfway home, smoothing over his stomach from fists, your grip remaining as strong but no longer threatening to puncture finger marks into the leather.

It was easier to take in when you weren’t in the busy town centre. The flurry of lights from traffic lights and the other cars, restaurants and clubs all melted away. Steady streetlights made it easier to observe the atmosphere, it wasn’t as overwhelming, and there was a kind of beauty to it. You felt free, like nothing was blocking you from connecting as the chill on your cheeks from a biting breeze ignited something deep.

Your hair was flying free behind you, it would be knotty and messy when you got home but you didn’t care, because it was somewhat like a liberation. Despite the exhilaration and pure terror it created, there was something ethereal about being able to experience nature and that hazy atmosphere it offered without the defences of the car. Cars were like a barrier between

You were almost disappointed when it came to an end, when the campus was back in sight, and he was pulling slowly into the garage of the building you lived in. Down the same ramp that you’d rolled down in a broken car hours earlier, and parking up as close to the main doors as he could, the vibrations coming to an end, and his feet hit the ground. You tried to follow suit, the soles of his boots sitting flat where only your toes touched, and he kicked on the stand to keep it steady.

He stood first, swinging his leg over it carefully as not to hit you, and taking off his helmet. His hair was flattened down, undoubtedly not for long because he’d mess with it anxiously once he got home, but it was pressed flat to his head for now. Placing it down on the top of the box, he offered you a hand, helping you up from the bike, and unclipping the helmet for you.

“So, how was that?”

“Terrifying.” It was the first word that came to mind, and his eyes scanned over your head, a grin on his lips. “But also, amazing. I kinda’ felt like I was flying, it was such a weird experience. It’s what I imagine skydiving to be like. But closer to the ground.”

“I don’t do anything unless it’s fun. I love my bike, but I was scared at first, too.”

“It was amazing. I feel kinda’ breathless, though.” You pressed a hand to your chest, your heart beating erratically under your coat, still waiting to calm down. Leaning forward, your cheek fell flat to his shoulder as you felt a little weak after it all. The experience had been draining but in the best of ways.

You hadn't felt that kind of mental and emotional exertion in a long time. Everything had felt numb and dull for a while, social settings were boring and everything you did seemed tiring, your exams looming over you, but that was different. It was enough to make your heart race in ways it hadn't for so long, and enough to make your skin grow a little damp with a clammy and nervous sweat that disappeared when you finally conquered the fear surrounding it.

“Thank you for that. It was cool. I’d love to ride with you again, sometime.”

“I'd like that. It’s nice to have company, it doesn't really happen much.” One arm was around your waist, soothing up and down, as the other began petting down the wild hairs on your head that you were sure were sticking up into his face. “You want me to walk you upstairs?”

“You don’t have to. I’m on, like, the fourth floor. There’s no elevator.”

“What if you break your leg or something?” He was grinning when he pulled back, moving to tuck his helmet back into his seat again, and to put yours away. He produced your bag, and your cake, holding onto the box for you, and letting his other hand sit on your lower back, guiding you to the staircase.

The silence sitting between you both was comfortable now, mumbles about the evening and the study taking place between the two of you. It was something more real and tangible than you had with most people. The hollow feeling you felt when faking small talk with people who were merely acquaintances never compared to the feeling of something new building, a new friendship that was laboured and made you work, instead of something that was easy and had no challenges. You liked a challenge, you liked something that made you work, that made it real and gave milestones, so you knew you weren’t falling short, and that the effort you put into the friendship was reciprocated.

“I had a good time tonight. I mean that truly. I was expecting it to suck, but you made it good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nudged your shoulder with his, falling close enough in your walk along the halls of your floor for your arms to brush as you went, and he didn’t pull back. “I had a good time tonight too. You’re not what I was expecting, you know.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?”

“I just mean that when you loosen up, you don’t do that thing you think you do. When you just let yourself be yourself, you have confidence, and you make jokes and you laugh. You’re like Stiles, but nothing like him.” His eyes held many questions, turning to look at you, and you both came to a stop in front of your door. There was chatter and television behind it, signalling that Lydia and Allison were home, you could hear their muffled yelling and singing behind it, and if you listened hard rough, you could place it as ‘Glee’ reruns. “You have the same confidence, you don’t let your walls hold you back. He’s loud and out there and that’s awesome because he’s always the life of the party. But, you don’t want to go to the party with the person that dances on the table.”

“I don’t really get what you mean, but at the same time, I do. I think it’s a compliment.”

“It is. When you let go of those walls when nobody else is around, you’re just this awesome person. If you could show other people that, the way I’ve seen it, nobody would be mistaking you for your brother. They’d love you.” You seemed to lose him, the smile on his face fading a little, eyes dropping to the ground as he shook his head. “Thanks for walking me up.”

“I can be a gentleman, sometimes.” He glanced back, hands tucking into his pockets as a door a few spaces down opened, and a kid from the year below left, waving at you both politely and locking his door, and you wiggled your fingers back in greeting, before focusing on Noah again. “I’ll text you, about your car.”

“I hope you do. We can hang out again.” He nodded, eyes fixed on yours, but silence fell between you both again. Reaching up and letting your hand sit on his arm you rubbed gently, squeezing his bicep a little in the most comforting way that you could. “Y’know, if you ever want someone to talk to, no study or anything, I’m here for you.”

He smiled, nodding his head, and then he leaned in. Pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head that you barely felt, and wouldn’t have known had he not pulled back with warmed cheeks, you’d have missed it. “Goodnight, and thanks for a great evening.”

“Thanks for the ride, it was fun.” Your face flushed a little, finally picking up on the innuendo that Stiles had hidden in there, and he stepped back a moment later. For what of the walk you could, you watched him go, waving when he glanced back over his shoulder at the corner, and then he was gone.

Fishing your keys from your purse, you opened up the door, and the girls both turned to stare at you. Facemasks and sweatpants on, they had a carton of ice cream in hand each, and Lydia smirked as soon as she picked up on the smile you wore.

“So, good date?”

You took off your coat, leaving it on the hooks and turning to look at the pair for a second, wandering past the living room towards your bedroom. “Yeah, it was.”

Closing your bedroom door behind you as you heard their chatter and giggling start back up, you’d deal with that conversation in the morning. Despite having no alcohol in your system, you felt drunk, or high, like you were floating in the clouds from the adrenaline and rush from the evening's events. Dropping your bag on the bed and the box of cheesecake to follow, the takeaway fork rattled inside, tempting you in as soon as you’d changed.

With cake in one hand and a fork in the other, you sat at the head of your bed, TV on with a show you weren’t really watching, almost staring right through it, because your mind was elsewhere.

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