Noah Divided

the-lesser-half:

[He’s parched and has a headache that could take down a rhino. Ultimately, what he needed was water last night, before passing out with nothing but liquor an cigarettes in his gut, but water this morning if going to have to do. 

He’d been out of fucking coffee when he’d woken up, which is the most not-okay thing ever, so he’d been forced to leave his apartment to stumble, hung over and groggy, to the cafe on the roof terrace of Zenith. With access from the outside, it’s accessible to everybody.

He orders a triple espresso and ‘the biggest bowl of drip coffee they can bring him’, with plenty of cream and no sugar, and a jug of water and a glass. The server, too cute and  ‘kind’ for her own good, smiles at him and her high pony tail slips across her shoulders as she tilts her head. “And will that be lemon, cucumber or melon, today?” 

Noah blinks at her, confused, brows heavy over his eyes. Fuck his head hurts.] What? [He asks. And she repeats: “Oh, we have lemon water, cucumber water or watermelon water for you sir. And then of course we can just give you standard iced, but I highly recommend the fruit infused options, they’re deli—”. Wincing, Noah holds up a hand, waving it to try to shut her up. Her voice is shrill and unkind to his pounding head. He pinches the bridge of his nose.] I don’t fucking know, Barbie, just bring me anything wet, I beg you. 

[He’s drinking a mimosa and eating a plate of berry crepes and enjoying the morning breeze that comes up off the water. The sun is out and it’s a beautiful day. It doesn’t seem that much can dampen his mood. That is, until the server comes back, pouring a drink and mumbling under her breath about a rude customer. Marco glances up, seeing the culprit a few seats down the bar and he can’t help when the corners of his mouth turn down.

He looks vaguely familiar but can’t recall a name. Never one to be rude to someone ‘just because’, Marco pulls out his wallet and leaves more than enough to cover his bill and leave the server a gracious tip. Maybe the rest of her day will go a little smoother. He hears her thanks as he picks up his glass and moves a few stools closer.]

Bad night? [His voice is casual when he asks, tipping back his drink and emptying the glass but he doesn’t look at the other man. Marco isn’t trying to intimidate and he couldn’t be even if he tried but sometimes he wants to know what other people are thinking, how they work.]

[He’s not looking for company, and he would think his sour mood would deter people, but the ‘fun’ thing about being at the fucking Seven, is everyone feels like it’s their job to cheer you up. Most people might consider this a nice, welcome thing. But Noah isn’t most people. 

Still, the guy is... on the side of non-invasive, at least. He’s not overly cheery, or pushy, as he casually slips in beside him, and makes straightforward attempt at conversation. 

Noah glances at him briefly—he looks familiar—handsome, definitely—but he makes no judgements beyond that.] 

You could say that, [he mutters, somewhat reluctant.] Most of them are, though. 

{ He pouts briefly before he finds himself distracted by the roll of the other’s eyes. He tries to narrow down what he said or did to provoke that reaction. It’s forgotten when he’s reminded being pretty will only get him so far. } Lucky for me, I’m much more than pretty. { He winces but it’s playful and teasing. } Such a dirty mouth. It’s not very nice to imply we’re all sluts if you haven’t at least sampled the merchandise. { This time he follows with a smirk and he doesn’t back down, eyes still intently focused on the client’s face. } I’ve never been known to disappoint and I don’t plan on starting now… { He smiles, tongue sliding across his lips. The response he has in mind is risky but Jacob has a thing for risks. } There’s a way you can find out just how big I really am.

{ Eager, no. In his element, yes. This is the part of banter, teasing, he enjoys. And even if nothing comes of it. He’s sure he won’t be forgotten and he can’t say he’ll forget the client across from him now. }

That’s my name. { Cocking his head to the side. } I’m an original, remember. { He waits his turn. The name, he’s eager for the other’s name. } Noah. I like it. What else am I allowed to do or ask, Noah?

[Fuck, he’s laying it on thick. Noah snorts, shaking his head again, but as he looks away, taking a slow but much needed sip of his coffee, his smirk lingers.] Jesus. You don’t waste time, do you? [He says as he swallows, sets the cup down.] So that’s how you’re going to play it? Try to get me to hire you with a series of cliches? 

[She snorts when he asks about her getting one now that she was on her own. She had thought about it plenty, but her life hadn’t ever opened itself up for her to really get a dog to take care of it. She wonders if wanting a dog had started as a genuine want and had turned into a pestering desire for her parents to bend to her every will. Most of the time, they did. Maybe the dog was just the last vestige of control while she spiraled out of it and moved out.] I’m twenty. How old are you? [She grins, knowing how young she is and how she can’t stop acting like she was older than that.] I haven’t really thought about it much, I guess. Like I said, it’s probably for the best that I ended up never getting one. Not committed enough for it.

[She tilts her head, genuinely smiling at the thought of such a large dog, and tried to picture the man across from her with the dog. She could definitely see it working. German Shepherds were really intelligent dogs and her company certainly seems like an intelligent guy. She thinks it’s maybe not the same loyal intelligence of the large dogs, but the dogs matching their owners thing didn’t have to be perfect.] Definitely a worthy choice. There’s a reason they use them for the police and stuff like that.

[It’s painful, idle chit chat. The dog thing had been a fair enough reason for Noah to withstand the interaction, but it’s lost its charm, by now, because the truth is he doesn’t give a fuck about dogs, people who own them, and why they do or do not own them. 

It’s reason to make a connection. But beyond that, this is probably the part of the conversation where he’s supposed to turn the focus onto her. Ask her something. Engage on a personal level. 

Except he hasn’t known how to engage on a personal level in a long time. He spends most of his time purposely disengaging, actually. 

Still, as he squints into the sun to glance at her again, he makes something of an effort. Why, he’s not sure. He’ll blame it on boredom. There’s only so long someone can go holing up in an apartment by oneself with only a bottle and trash tv for company without losing their minds.] 

So... what brought you here then? I guess it’s safe to assume you’re staff? Got a name? 

[He’d be busying himself momentarily, fishing around the inner breast pocket of his jacket for his own nicotine source, only half listening due to the source of his own thinly veiled irritation clearly being something that the other was enjoying. Honestly, Julian had spent enough time in the right places, with enough cocky twinks who saw his polished exterior as a weak spot, to know that sometimes its best to just let the spiel continue. Things usually looked different when the very same mouth was later choking on his cock or bent at the mercy of a belt that most likely cost more than their months rent. 

But the other was more humorous that a lot of the others who’d said similar things to him in times past. So he’d reacted minimally, now holding a cigarette between his teeth, lighting the stick, as he spoke] If I wasn’t self-assured before this conversation, then I must thank you, because all it took was an almost drunk twenty-something year old to reaffirm to me my self worth. So thank you…I’ll refrain from buying those slippers now. But if you keep bringing my hair into this, I wont give you my hairdressers number. And I know secretly that’s what you’re dying to get out of me. [Julian had looked up by this point, tilted his head and smirks] 

No, now stop it. Facial hair to me is the man’s equivalent to heavy makeup. Just covers up a multitude of sins, only for the wearer to eventually get rid of it and spoil what was before quite ascetically pleasing. [He takes another large swig of scotch, chased with a deep pull of his cigarette] but if we’re going to spend any longer talking about hair I’m going to excuse myself. Change the subject.

I resent that, [he mutters, taking another sip.] It takes me a lot more than a second helping to get me drunk, my friend. I’ve been drinking the hard stuff since I was fourteen. Say hello to an expert heavy weight champ. [It’s said with a drawl and a sideways half smirk because he knows how it looks. How out of place it sounds coming from someone of his stature and frame.

There’s an adamant demand to change the subject, which Noah finds amusing. You’d think with someone as self aware and into his looks as this client, he’d get a kick out of talking about himself. But maybe the point is that he’s not proud of how into himself he is. How much effort he puts into his looks... into staying young. Maybe the fear of getting older is really getting to him. 

Shame.]

But fine. Change the subject then. By all means, I’ll follow your lead, mon liege. 

I’ve only been here half a year, but no, I haven’t. I’ve gotten a few guys who believe they can show me how a “real” man does it. They seem to have this primal need to imagine me as barely legal and desperate for their dick. Probably something they saw in some porn video. I can’t complain about getting paid though. [Noah’s admission makes him chuckle again. Liam is surprised by the comment about his lips, having not heard that before. He never thought about his facial features being an asset, and yet they were, apparently.] 

I mean, I get a fair amount. I need to do more networking so I can get more. I never thought that being an escort involved so much work in that sense. It’s surprisingly not only about sex with a lot of guys. [He pauses before letting out a small groan, rolling his eyes a little.] Great. I should’ve known better than to say anything.

[He gives a bit of a snort.] Oh yeah? Whoda thunk. What is it about for them, then? 

[He knows some people come here for company. Lonely old men who are too last-generation to admit that they’re lonely. Depressed. Desperate for any kind of human connection. In that sense, Noah doesn’t know why he’s here. He’s not here because he can’t ‘get it’ anywhere else. He’s not here because he wants to be around more people. Given his current habit of avoiding crowds at all costs, the ‘community’ at the Seven wasn’t exactly a highlight for him. Maybe he’s hear because he’s angry. Maybe the idea of wasting away his family’s money is easier than doing something cathartic with it.]

So you only work with men, then, or...?

And cocky. Please don’t forget cocky. { Jacob laughs, sure that his act is wearing thin but he’s not ready to stop yet.} But we can stick with honest, for now.

{ He smiles. Teeth tugging at his bottom lip and willing his mouth to comply. The words are burning his tongue. Something along the lines of why would he blow air up his own ass when he - tall, lanky, and blessed with enough cynicism and snark to make Jacob’s head spin - could do it for him. Now wasn’t the time and there was only so long a pretty face and nice abs could make up for his obnoxious behavior.} What can I say. I’m a man of many talents and only one of those is my pretty face.

{ A dangerous line he’s walking. This one. This one he can feel wouldn’t think twice about telling him to fuck off and take his ego with him. He also can’t help but wonder if he likes it. The bravado and teasing. The self assuredness no matter how false.}

My name. That’s easy enough. Koby. { Slightly tilting his head to the side.} And yours? If I’m allowed to ask?

Oh, I haven’t forgotten. Just figured it goes without saying. 

[Noah watches with narrowed eyes, as the escort’s tongue slips out between his lips and he speaks of his own good looks like he’s heard it far too much. And he probably has. He’s probably heard nothing but awe over his looks, and it’s most definitely got to his fucking head. Noah rolls his eyes again.] Unfortunately for you, being pretty isn’t enough to get you much of anything, around here. All of your slut cohorts are pretty. [He raises a brow] Better hope your performance speak as loud as your words, big guy. 

[Lady would probably disapprove of Noah’s calling the escorts ‘sluts’ but Noah is more vulgar than he is judgemental. Hell, he’s far more of a slut than any of these kids—at least they’re getting paid for it. As least they’re doing it for something in return. The most Noah ever got out of letting old men in suburbia fuck him is a feeling of self-loathing that was a step up from a void of feeling altogether.] 

Koby, [he echoes.] That’s a new one.  [But he likes it. It suits the man, somehow.] It’s Noah. And of course you’re allowed to fucking ask. 

the-lesser-half:

[He’s parched and has a headache that could take down a rhino. Ultimately, what he needed was water last night, before passing out with nothing but liquor an cigarettes in his gut, but water this morning if going to have to do. 

He’d been out of fucking coffee when he’d woken up, which is the most not-okay thing ever, so he’d been forced to leave his apartment to stumble, hung over and groggy, to the cafe on the roof terrace of Zenith. With access from the outside, it’s accessible to everybody.

He orders a triple espresso and ‘the biggest bowl of drip coffee they can bring him’, with plenty of cream and no sugar, and a jug of water and a glass. The server, too cute and  ‘kind’ for her own good, smiles at him and her high pony tail slips across her shoulders as she tilts her head. “And will that be lemon, cucumber or melon, today?” 

Noah blinks at her, confused, brows heavy over his eyes. Fuck his head hurts.] What? [He asks. And she repeats: “Oh, we have lemon water, cucumber water or watermelon water for you sir. And then of course we can just give you standard iced, but I highly recommend the fruit infused options, they’re deli—”. Wincing, Noah holds up a hand, waving it to try to shut her up. Her voice is shrill and unkind to his pounding head. He pinches the bridge of his nose.] I don’t fucking know, Barbie, just bring me anything wet, I beg you. 

[Allison isn’t a huge coffee drinker. She can deal with it if there’s milk and sugar and syrup, but at that point she suspects it doesn’t really count. Same with tea. They’re just too bitter. She can deal with herbal teas, though, and finds that she enjoys the ritual of a hot drink in the morning. Green tea with honey and fresh lemon is her current favourite; it seems more sophisticated than her usual apple cherry spiced tea.

And she’s enjoying it thoroughly until the server approaches and asks for her help with a customer that needs cheering up. Allison glances over, and flinches. Noah isn’t a client she knows particularly well, as she knows he wouldn’t hire a female escort - she’s not going to put a great deal of time into schmoozing with him. She’s here to earn money, after all, and he’s a lost cause to her as far as finances go.

She knows enough, through the database and through anecdotes of other escorts, that even if he did care for women, he’d not care for her. She’s exactly the sort of peppy sunspot that he would hate. But, she’s also always been awful at saying no to favours, and this waitress has always been sweet to her. With a weary smile, Allison says she’ll give it her best shot, and relocates to Noah’s table.]

Hope your night was fun, at least. I always think it’s totally worth the rough morning for some good memories.

[He has never fucking understood people who seek out chit-chat. As if that person glowering on the bus listening to their headphones really, genuinely, wants to be bothered, they’re just too afraid to ask for it. It’s fucking baffling, actually, the sheer obliviousness of some people—or perhaps the sheer force of stubbornness, like the know it isn’t the case but it’s a fact they’re going to blatantly ignore.

He glances up at her from beneath furrowed brows. The niceties are going to be wasted on him, and he wants to tell her that, but he’s already snapped at one innocent bystander. He’s not sure he has the energy for a second. He sighs.] If you mean the memories of myself wallowing in my apartment, then sure. Good fun. 

At least twice a day. { He catches himself before something inappropriate slips from his lips. He’s thinking of better ways to keep his mouth and mind occupied but there’s the whole respect factor and customer coming first in more ways than one. So he smiles, shrugs, even laughs but those words don’t dare drip from his tongue even though you can read them in his eyes.} Wait…more like three times a day. I like the sound of my own voice. 

{ Not really but it goes along with the game. False pretenses and all that shit. He’s pretending to be okay or maybe not pretending as much as pushing reality from his mind and focusing on his goals and the fun he can have getting to those goals.} Why? Does my talking bother you? I could leave.

{There’s a lift to his shoulders. They rise and fall with the words. He doesn’t think he’d move even if asked, unless the other was serious. He’s having fun avoiding and distracting himself but also teasing this client.}

I like that. You have a sense of humor and you don’t bite your tongue. {He wrinkles his nose.} Too late. The special feels started when you kicked the chair out for me.

[Wow, he’s a cheeky son of a bitch. Noah snorts at the last comment.] I’ll  bet you do. Well, at least he’s honest, ladies and gentlemen, [he drawls.] 

[Somehow, when he asks if Noah wants him to leave, Noah gets the impression that the escort has no doubts whatsoever that that’s not the case (though, admittedly, Noah is getting closer to that being a ‘yes’ by the second. Still, the hot headed idiot is still easy on the eyes.. it’d be a shame not to get his name, at least.

And still he rattles on... complimenting (cough, sucking up, cough) and teasing like a cocky mother fucker.

Noah sneers, rolling his eyes.] Yeah, well, we all make mistakes, [he quips.] Careful, keep blowing air up your own ass and you’ll make me regret it. [He says it without any heat, sipping at his latte and fighting the urge to dive right into its warmth.]

You got a name? Or should I continue to call you Kenickie as I have been in my head? 

Trying to size me up? { He smiles eyes never leaving the irritated face of the stranger.} I could answer your questions better than you making assumptions. { It was a lie. He did look at more than the man’s face. A quick glance down the long lean lines of his body before returning to his eyes.}

I rescued you from Kathy and her pussycats. You should thank me. At least I think you should thank me. It’s the nice thing to do. { Making a zipping motion, fingers running along his lips, he nods} No more manual and no more useful advice just my pretty face. You know you like staring. 

{It was one of many assumptions but Jacob knew at least once or twice eyes had lingered. He made a production of it. Flexing his muscles. Running his fingers along his skin, inviting the stranger to look.} This is normal then. Drinking all night without proper hydration and and the pretending not to know fruit infused water. Your hobby, not mine but I think there are better things you could do with your time. Just  my opinion. 

{ His hand catches the chair when long legs kick it out. He sits accepting the invitation.} You’re going to make me blush with all this sweetness and attention. { Josie rushes back. Glasses and water on a tray. Still slightly amused by her behavior and nervousness, Jacob’s eyes wander back to the stranger.

He’s definitely a client. Entitled behavior. Good looks with an air of - what was it, cockiness or indifference? It was intriguing and that’s why he sat. That’s why he inserted himself into the conversation in the first place.}

So…{ He trails off. Dark eyes staring at the other while he pours water in a glass } Come here often or should I feel special today?

[Noah rolls his eyes—fuck, this one’s a talker, isn’t he? He’s surprised, and he’s not sure why. He look like an arrogant, shit, and arrogant shits are usually talkers, aren’t they? They swaggering, cocky ones, anyway. The ones that have something to prove. Noah’s also an arrogant shit, but he’s much less of a talker. He doesn’t brandish his ego in quite the same way—simply throws it in someone’s face when they dane to talk to him. 

The server brings the drinks, thank fuck, and Noah shoots back his triple shot in a second, quickly cradling the large twenty ounzer (give or take) in his long-fingered narrow hands. He lets the warmth seep into his skin, ease away some of his discomfort.] 

Anyone ever tell you, you talk way too much, Reggie? [he drawls.] I’ll thank you when you shut the fuck up. [He doesn’t really mean it—well, he does, in a sense that he wants him to talk less and harass Noah much less about his hungover state, but he doesn’t actually want him to shut up. If he did, he’d have told him to scram a long time ago.] 

Often enough. I go where the coffee is. No need to feel special. [A dry smirk.] 

Ugh, son is even worse. I didn’t know boy was a term used at all. [He crinkles his nose in disgust.] So that means you think I’m cute? [Liam’s turn to smirk at the other.] No offense, but I don’t exactly wanna be considered cute. That’s not sexy at all. I’m about to start working out a lot more so I don’t look like a teenager for the rest of my life. 

[He simply shrugs, taking another drag and tapping off the ash.] It’s just my name. Theodore sounds like an old man and so does Ted, so Teddy it is. Can’t really do anything about that unless I use my middle name. [Of course he was lying, but his name and alias were no one’s business. Even if someone did find out his real identity, they wouldn’t find much. Both of his parents were dead, he never stayed in the same place for long growing up, and didn’t have a driver’s license on top of that. They might find the couple who took him in for a while, but that was just another blip on the radar of his vagabond life.] 

[He laughs at the crinkled expression.] You’ve been here a fucking year and you haven’t had some hairy dad client call you boy when he’s fucking you? Shit. [He scoffs, taking another drag, smirking around it. The smirk curls and widens at the next question, and as he blows out a cocky exhale, he turns to look Teddy again.] Yeah, you’re cute, suck it up, Princess. [He smirks] And sure, sure, i get it, but you have plenty of time to be sexy. And being cute is, contrary to popular belief, not without sex appeal. With your puppy dog eyes and dick sucking lips like those? You’ll have clients all-the-fuck over you, I’m sure, [he drawls.] 

[He’d be more skeptical of the claim about it being his name, if he cared enough to speculate. But the truth was, it didn’t really matter to him if it was his name or not—he knows most escorts go by Aliases of some kind, he also has heard of some not bothering with the name change. But as far as he’s concerned, that’s their business, and he can’t be damned. He’ll call them whatever they want to be called.]

Theodore, [he echoes, smirk spreading cheekily.] You shouldn’t have told me that. That one just stick. 

[Julian scoffed, let the sound dissipate quickly into the tumbler he was now holding to his bottom lip. He sipped. Whether the other had truly meant it to be, Julian wasn’t the kind of man who got involved in deprecating conversation, there wasn’t humour in it. Only thinly veiled insecurities. Something he was neither qualified, or interested, enough to deal with. So he’d ignored, well almost, offering nothing more than a quickly quirked brow and that half laugh that had quickly got lost in another swift sip of scotch. 

Although he does smirk back. Not because what the other says is particularly humorous, but because its entirely true. He could, in sincerity, write an address book full of too old men and their perverted fantasies for the other to flick through. He worked with enough of them. Had brushed their shoulders in enough clubs.

 But then suddenly his lips are forced from their smirk into enough of a shape that allowed another, more irritated, albeit thinly veiled, snort to get through] Oh please sweetheart, you may be half my age, but I am nowhere near that bracket. So don’t even insult me. Please. [but he does smirk again, shaking his head only slightly. He wasn’t wrong, Julian was aware that when he walked into a room, he was more likely than not going to be the most conventionally attractive person in there, but that didn’t come with sloppy maintenance. It took work. Fuck it took work. Work he was very, very proud of.] I really don’t think a goatie would quite go with the tailoring of my three piece collection I’m afraid. After all, I’m forty, I didn’t hail from the Jurassic period. I’m sure I’ve got a few years in me yet before I have to fully embrace the salt and pepper effect. [he sips his drink again]

[The man’s hard to read, but Noah’s pretty sure he actually might be insulted, which is pretty funny. Noah lets out a half-laugh.] Ooh, touchy subject there, big guy? [Another laugh] Relax. You’re comfortably middle-aged. Not even close to Bear stage, so you can chill. But I still think you should embrace it. Forty is hot. And I bet you triple in experience and finesse what these young fuckers do. Trust me, I’d gladly fuck you over the younger models, any day. That is, if you could hold up in the aggro department. Which, judging by your hair, I’m not convinced. [He smirks, thoroughly enjoying the teasing banter. He’s actually looking forward to that look on the man’s face when he insults his hair, again.]

[This time, at the goatie comment, he really does let out a bark of a laugh.] Oh my God, who said anything about a goatie? I said scruff up, not become Italian Mafia. Fuck. [He’s laughing again, and shaking his head, trying to take a sip of his drink without spilling.] 

Not gonna lie, it feels like one step under “daddy”. [He decides to be upfront, since Noah could take it. Being called a pet name didn’t make things better, being moody would make things worse and probably give the other more of an excuse to think he was cute enough for a pet name. He’s saving the much-needed eye roll for when they part. Liam’s soul is probably just as old anyway.]

It’s not mine either, so none taken. [Noah’s grin makes a smile pull at Liam’s features and he chuckles.] Why would it bother me? I’m literally smoking right next to you. [He takes a long drag and turns his head to blow away the smoke, closing his eyes for a brief moment.] How long have you lived here? You don’t seem old enough for a mid-life crisis, so I’m guessing you’re under thirty, for sure. Obviously you’re rich as fuck too.

[He snorts] Nah, getting your lingo wrong. ‘Daddies’ call ‘em ‘boy’ not ‘kid’. Way, way different. Kid is like, the least sexy synonym. Not the same thing. [He smirks, looking over at him again.] Your resistance is cute though. If you hate being called out for being young and cute so much, why did you call yourself Teddy of all things? I’m assuming that’s an Alias? Don’t get me wrong—[another smirk, his tongue swiping dry lips.] It suits you. But I’m just sayin’. [He’s just being a cheeky s.o.b., is what he’s doing. But his sarcasm is bone deep at this point. He wouldn’t know how to eject that from himself, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. People have to take him or leave, honestly, and at this point, he doesn’t care which.] 

[He gets a bit of a chuckle from the kid, which is kind of refreshing, if only because he seems to be relaxing, which is more up Noah’s alley. He doesn’t handle the false, just-so manners too well. Not something that sits well with him. He’d take real over charming any day.]

Oh, fuck, I don’t know? Like, 4 months, maybe? Not long. Feels like longer. [Is he old enough for a midlife crisis? Is that what this is? No, this is an early-life tragedy. At this rate, he might not even get to midlife level headed enough to have a crisis. His whole life will just be full time crisis. A depressing thought.] I’m as old as you want me to be, sweetheart, [he quips, smirk sly as he swings it the kid’s way again.] And I’m not rich as fuck, exactly.