Chapter 5
20 hours and 57 minutes ago
The morning didn't fully crawl into the bedroom all at once. It came slowly, lazily, as if the sun itself didn't want to disturb this fragile silence hanging between two people who were still lying in the same bed, unable to pull away or move closer. Every breath, every rustle of the sheets, every accidental heartbeat echoed in that silence especially loudly, almost deafeningly. Noah felt Finn's chest rising and falling steadily under his cheek. That rhythm—calm, steady, familiar down to the last note—was now the only thing holding him in reality, keeping him from falling back into the memories of yesterday's nightmare, which still floated somewhere in the depths of his soul, waiting for a chance to attack again.
The few phrases they'd exchanged in half-slumber hung in the air like a first step toward something new, something that frightened and beckoned at the same time. Now they both simply had to get used to this new state of things, to this new closeness that just yesterday had seemed impossible, forbidden, out of reach.
Finn stirred, propping himself up on his elbow. His black curls, disheveled after sleep, fell over his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. The morning light—no longer timid, but confident and golden—tangled in those curls, igniting warm sparks in them that shimmered with every movement. Noah, unable to stop himself, reached out to brush the unruly strands from his face—slowly, carefully, with just the tips of his fingers, barely touching, as if touching something sacred, something that shouldn't be disturbed. Finn went still at that touch. His long lashes fluttered, his breath faltered for a second. He caught Noah's hand in his own and laced their fingers together—slowly, giving him time to change his mind, giving him time to pull his hand away if this was a mistake. But Noah didn't pull away. So Finn stayed where he was, looking down at him.
— How are you? — he asked quietly. The thumb of his free hand glided over Noah's knuckles—lightly, almost weightlessly. But that touch, so simple and so insignificant, sent shivers running across Noah's skin. He had to bite his lip to keep from betraying how strongly his body responded to this caress.
— I don't know, — Noah answered honestly. His voice came out low. — Weird. My head hurts. And also… — he faltered, searching for words. His green eyes, still slightly swollen from yesterday's tears, met Finn's brown ones. The whole world around them ceased to exist for a second, shrinking down to the size of this bed, this pillow, these few inches between their faces. — Also, I'm glad you were there. And I'm glad you're here now.
Finn didn't answer. He only lifted their intertwined fingers to his lips and brushed them lightly, almost weightlessly, against Noah's knuckles. At that gesture—so simple and so intimate, so unthinkably tender—a ringing filled Noah's ears. His heart skipped a beat and then pounded somewhere in his temples, making it impossible to think. He wasn't used to this Finn—the Finn who didn't hide behind jokes, who didn't look away, who didn't retreat into his shell like a snail when the conversation became too personal, too raw. And now, looking at him, at his tousled curls, at his lips slightly swollen from sleep, at his long lashes tangled with morning light, Noah suddenly thought that he had never in his life seen anything more beautiful. And that he probably never would.
— We should probably get up, — he said. But it came out so unconvincing, so pitiful, that Finn only snorted and shook his head, not releasing Noah's hand from his own. His thumb kept tracing invisible patterns on Noah's skin, patterns that echoed inside him with a warm, vibrating shiver.
— We don't have to do anything, — Finn answered. That lazy, slightly teasing intonation had crept back into his voice, the one he always used to hide his real feelings. But now Noah saw right through him. He saw the way something huge, something fluttering, ready to break free at any moment, beat beneath that mask. — Except maybe breakfast. You hungry, baby?
Noah honestly tried to tune into his body. Besides the hangover and the strange, hollow ache in his chest left over from yesterday, besides this new, terrifying and simultaneously beautiful feeling that was growing inside him with every second spent in this bed—he suddenly realized that he really was hungry. The discovery felt almost indecent. "How can I think about food," he thought, "when my entire world just flipped upside down, when the person I think I've loved my whole life just kissed my fingers and is looking at me like I'm the most precious thing in this world?" But his stomach betrayed him with a growl. Hearing it, Finn laughed quietly and finally released his hand, throwing back the blanket.
— Say no more, — he said, sitting up in bed and stretching his graceful but strong body. His sleep shirt rode up, baring a strip of pale skin above the waistband of his pants. Noah, noticing it, hastily averted his eyes, feeling a hot wave rush to his cheeks. — Stay here for now. I'll make coffee and toast. I think we still have some cinnamon left from last time.
He got up, and the floorboards creaked under his bare feet. That sound was so familiar, so inseparable from their shared life, that for a moment Noah's nose stung. Because everything was the same as always, and at the same time everything had changed. The dissonance threw him off, made him doubt the reality of what was happening. He was lying in Finn's bed, under Finn's blanket, on a pillow that smelled like Finn. And he was waiting for Finn to make him coffee. It was so unthinkable, so impossibly good, that he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and not open them until evening, so as not to frighten away this fragile, newly-born miracle.
But he got up—slowly, wincing at the headache and the muscle-deep consequences of yesterday's endless glasses of something not much weaker than rubbing alcohol. He pulled on his t-shirt, still lying on the floor, and, shivering at the morning chill seeping through the loosely closed window, shuffled to the bathroom. There, he spent a long time washing his face with ice-cold water, trying to pull himself together and wash away the remains of yesterday's catastrophe.
When he walked out into the living room, Finn was already working his magic in the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of toasted bread and cinnamon. From that smell, a warmth spread inside him that had nothing to do with the temperature outside the window. Finn turned around at the sound of his footsteps and smiled—not his famous smirk that drove millions of fans around the world crazy, but a completely different smile, soft and a little shy, meant for only one person, for Noah. And Noah suddenly realized he was smiling back. That smile, the first one of this endlessly long, torturous morning, felt like a victory, like a small step toward healing.
— Sit, — Finn said, nodding at the table. On it already stood two mugs of steaming coffee and a plate of toast, toasted exactly as much as Noah liked it. — Your favorite mug.
Noah sat down, wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep through the ceramic into his fingers, rising higher to his wrists, his elbows, his shoulders, spreading throughout his entire body. He took the first sip—hot, slightly bitter, exactly the way he liked it, with that exact proportion of sugar that only Finn knew. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself simply feel. Not think. Not analyze. Simply be. When he opened them again, Finn was sitting across from him, watching him over his own mug. In that gaze, dark and deep, was something that made Noah's heart break into a gallop without asking permission.
— What? — he asked, feeling his cheeks flood with that traitorous blush he couldn't control.
— Nothing, — Finn answered, but he didn't look away. He kept watching. — Just looking. You're beautiful. I don't think I've ever told you that.
Noah dropped his eyes to his mug, trying to hide the embarrassed smile spreading across his face against his will. He mumbled something unintelligible. Finn laughed quietly again and finally looked away, allowing them both to return to breakfast.
They ate in silence, but the silence was cozy. Sometimes their fingers accidentally brushed when they both reached for toast. Each time, that fleeting, seemingly accidental touch sent a spark across their skin. They both pretended not to notice, though their hearts pounded in unison and their breath stopped for a second. Noah caught himself thinking that he never wanted these touches to end.
When breakfast was finished and the mugs stood empty, Noah glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen table and sighed. It was time to get ready. He had classes, which he would have happily skipped if not for the promise he'd made to himself not to let his studies slide, even in the darkest times, even when his heart was broken, even when it felt like life was over.
When he returned to the hallway with his backpack over his shoulder, Finn was already waiting for him there, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. Looking at his posture, his gaze, the way he had his arms crossed over his chest, Noah's legs slowed of their own accord. They stood opposite each other in the narrow hallway of their little apartment. The sunlight from the living room window fell on Finn's face, catching golden sparks in his dark curls, making his chocolate eyes almost transparent, amber, filled with some inner glow that Noah had never noticed before but now couldn't not see. He looked into those eyes and couldn't tear his gaze away. Because in them was everything—everything he had searched for and hadn't found in other people, everything that had always been there, at arm's length, but that he'd been afraid to touch, afraid to name, afraid to acknowledge.
Time slowed, stretched out. Every second of this silent goodbye lasted an eternity. The street noise outside the window faded. Even the floorboards stopped creaking. The whole world froze, holding its breath, watching what was about to happen. Noah shifted his gaze to Finn's lips—incredible, outlined with that almost unnatural, sculptural sharpness. He'd seen them a thousand times, but never allowed himself to study them so openly, so long, so hungrily. He saw them part slightly. He saw Finn take a tiny, almost imperceptible step forward, shrinking the distance between them to a mere few inches. His own body responded before his mind could give any command. He also stepped forward. The air around them grew thick and hot, saturated with the electricity crackling between their faces.
They kissed at the same time—neither was first, neither was led. In that kiss, the first real kiss they'd both waited for so long they'd stopped hoping, there was no passion, no rush, no desperation. There was only that long-awaited, hard-won tenderness that had been ripening between them for years and had finally found its release. Finn's lips were soft and warm, and they tasted of coffee and cinnamon. Noah closed his eyes and felt something inside him explode into a million tiny, sparkling shards. The butterflies that had been sleeping somewhere under his heart all this time, curled into a tight knot, suddenly woke and filled his entire being with a fluttering, golden light that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Finn placed his palm on Noah's cheek—carefully, as if holding something incredibly fragile, something that could be shattered with one careless movement. His thumb glided over Noah's cheekbone, wiping away an invisible tear that had managed to break through his lashes, because his heart couldn't withstand this rush of feelings, this tsunami of tenderness that had crashed down on both of them. The kiss didn't last long—just a few seconds that couldn't be measured by ordinary clocks, because such seconds live by their own laws. But when they pulled away from each other, both were breathing heavily. Their foreheads touched. The tips of their noses almost met. Their hot breath mingled in the tiny space between their lips. No one dared to speak first, because any words would have been too small, too insignificant for what had just happened.
— I… — Noah started, then stopped. There were no words. No language in the world had words to describe what he felt right now, standing in the hallway of their shared apartment, his forehead pressed to Finn's, feeling the butterflies inside him still dancing, still fluttering, still filling him with light.
— I know, — Finn whispered. His voice came out low, hoarse. — Me too.
Noah pressed his lips to Finn's again—this time shorter, but no less tender. Then he pulled away, took a step back toward the door, still gazing into those chocolate eyes that now shone completely differently. Not with the light that drove millions crazy, but with the one meant only for him. He stepped out into the stairwell, still tasting coffee and cinnamon on his lips. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, as if trying to hold onto the sensation, to preserve it, to lock it somewhere deep inside so it would never disappear.
Outside, New York greeted him—loud, bustling, indifferent to what had just happened to one particular student on the seventh floor of an unremarkable brick building. Taxis honked, pigeons cried, a siren wailed somewhere in the distance. It smelled of gasoline, fresh bread, and autumn leaves. It was all so ordinary, so familiar, that for a moment Noah was almost offended at the world for continuing to spin as if nothing had happened, while inside him a revolution had taken place.
He walked to the subway, descended the steps, passed through the turnstiles, and stood on the platform, waiting for the train. All the while, a smile wandered across his face that he couldn't have controlled even if he'd wanted to—a dreamy, distracted, completely happy smile belonging to someone who had just kissed the person he loved and been kissed back. People around him rushed about their business, staring at their phones, adjusting scarves and collars. No one paid attention to the young man with glowing green eyes standing on the platform, gazing into space, seeing not the subway tunnel but a completely different picture: black curls scattered across a pillow, long lashes tangled with sunlight, and incredible lips that just minutes ago had touched his own.
The train arrived with a deafening roar. Noah, startled, stepped into the car and sat in a free seat by the window, clutching his backpack to his chest like a stuffed animal. Across from him sat an elderly woman with a small dog on her lap. The dog, its pink tongue lolling out, watched Noah with that particular, knowing expression that only animals have, the ones who can always sense when something important is happening to a person. Noah smiled at it. The woman, noticing, smiled too—just because, for no reason. Noah's smile had that rare quality of spreading to those around him, like light from a lamp.
The car was stuffy and noisy, but Noah noticed neither the stuffiness nor the noise. Mentally, he was still there, in the hallway. And somewhere under his heart, the butterflies still fluttered, having apparently decided to settle there permanently. He thought about what would happen next—how they'd meet in the evening, how they'd sit on the sagging couch, how their shoulders would touch, and how now, after everything, every touch would be filled with a completely different meaning than before. He thought about the fact that they'd need to say something, to somehow define what was happening between them. But the thought didn't frighten him. It only stirred a warm, ticklish anticipation.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Noah pulled it out and saw a message from Finn on the screen.
"I miss you, baby," the message read, sent a minute ago. Noah closed his eyes for a second, feeling something hot and sweet spreading inside him. He typed out a reply that held everything he hadn't been able to say in words back there, in the hallway:
"Me too, baby. So much. I'll be home right after classes."
He hit send and put the phone back in his pocket, still smiling, still tasting Finn on his lips. The train sped him through the underground tunnels of Manhattan toward the university. And somewhere, on the seventh floor of a brick building, Finn stood at the window, pressing his phone to his chest. He was smiling the exact same way, looking out at the autumn sky. And he was feeling the exact same thing—the way everything inside him sang with happiness.
