Chapter 5 Gabe
GABE
Noah said goodnight a little while ago, voice low like he didn’t want to spook me. His bedroom door clicked shut with a soft finality. Now the quiet is back, but it doesn’t feel the same.
I’m on the sofa with my yellow mug, gone cold between my hands.
There’s still a dip in the cushion from where he sat, long leg stretched out, ankle hooked over his knee like he’d been completely at ease.
He’d asked if I wanted to hang out, catch up.
I said yes. And then I just… didn’t say much of anything.
At the time, it hadn’t felt strange. Once the initial awkwardness passed, the quiet had actually been easy, almost warm.
Quickly, I felt comfortable in a way I didn’t expect.
I put it down to familiarity—I’ve known him since we were kids, watched him grow up with Aiden.
Even if we haven’t seen much of each other over the last year, that history still sits between us.
But now, sitting here alone, I can’t stop replaying it. What if he thought I was being weird? He probably wishes he never asked. Who says yes to hanging out and then just… sits there?
I lean back on the sofa and squeeze my eyes shut.
I should have said something. Asked him more about his life this past year. I wanted to know.
No… It’s better to stay quiet. Not draw attention to myself.
My heartbeat is in my throat like it’s trying to choke me. My fingers drift to my cheek against my will, the tips of my blunt nails pricking against the scar. I grit my teeth against the sting.
He’s here. There’s someone else here. I thought I was ready for this.
But now it’s hitting me that this isn’t just an idea anymore.
Noah’s in the room down the hall. His stuff is here.
My space isn’t just mine now. When I go to bed, he’s going to be across the hall. When I wake up, he’ll still be here.
I feel sick.
My phone vibrates on the sofa beside me, group chat lighting up.
Ciarán’s sent a GIF—a naked man running through a forest, a man dressed like a werewolf chasing him. Normally it would make me laugh. Right now it feels like it’s happening from far away.
I type before I can overthink it.
AA Meetings (Anal & Angst)
Me: I’m freaking out.
Abbie: Oh no. What’s going on?
My thumbs move quickly.
Me: Noah’s here.
Me: He asked to hang out. Then we were in the living room for a while. I sat there not really saying anything.
Me: Now I keep thinking about how strange that must have been for him.
Ciarán’s reply comes so fast, I picture him flopped on his couch, phone already in hand.
Ciarán: So? Silence is a vibe.
Ciarán: He’s lucky you didn’t start info-dumping about homemade tea blends.
A smile spreads across my face. Which I’m sure was his aim. I tuck myself further into the sofa.
Abbie: Sitting together is still hanging out. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Me: What if he thinks I’m weird?
Ciarán: Gabe. He moved in knowing you’re a cryptid who lives above a bookshop. He’s not expecting you to turn into the life of the party.
A tiny laugh bubbles out of me.
Abbie: Ciarán’s right. He’s being a brat about how he’s saying it… but he’s right. Noah wouldn’t be there if he didn’t want to be. You’re allowed to be quiet. I’m sure he didn’t mind.
Me: I feel like an idiot. I shouldn’t be stressing over something like this. I’m messing this up already.
Abbie: You’re not an idiot. You’re not messing anything up. He knows you, he knows you’re quiet. Slow breaths. Everything’s okay.
Ciarán: And if that doesn’t work, picture Noah naked.
Abbie: Ciarán O’Shea!
Ciarán: What? It’s very calming. It’s working for me.
I let out a shaky laugh. My chest is still tight, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to crush me anymore.
Me: I’ll try the breathing.
Abbie: Good. Text us if you need to.
Ciarán: And if you don’t, I’ll assume you’re picturing Noah naked and leave you to it.
I shake my head, smiling. I set my phone aside and drag in a slow breath. Down the hall, I hear Noah shift—maybe turning over, maybe just settling. The sound causes my nerves to flare again.
I turn off the lights and head into the hall to lock the door.
There’s the soft click of the deadbolt—once, twice, three times.
I head for my own room. My legs feel weighed down, like every step takes effort, but I make it.
I crawl under the covers still dressed, tug them up to my chin, and lie there staring at the ceiling.
I need to wash my face and brush my teeth, but I can’t move. A heavy feeling settles over me, it presses down, and dread fills me. No matter how hard I try to shake it off, it clings to me. My eyes sting. I feel disgusting. I want to get up, but I can’t go back out there.
Someone else is here.
I pick up my phone and leave the chat open, staring at it, letting their affection fill the silence. Eventually, I turn my phone screen-down on the side table and pull the blanket tighter.
Someone else is here.
The scar on my cheek itches. But I fight the urge to touch it. I fight the tears that want to come.
I fight the inky shadows of my mind. The dread lingers, whispers words in my mind, dark and cruel.
You’re not safe. You’ll never be safe.
I don’t cry. But it’s a near thing.
Someone else is here.
I wish I had a lock on my bedroom door.
The morning air is cool and a little damp.
It clings to my skin and makes me feel more awake than I am.
I tossed and turned all night, but thankfully, no nightmares came for me.
My breath comes in steady bursts as I round the corner at the end of the block, sneakers hitting the pavement in a familiar rhythm.
Most mornings I keep to town. It’s easier to stay close, to let the familiar sights tether me. But today, with someone in my space—someone outside the small circle I can stand to let in—every sound of him settling last night felt too loud. I need space.
So instead of turning toward Main, I veer off for the trees.
The road thins, gravel giving way to dirt, and the forest rises around me. The air is cooler, carrying a sharp bite. Each stride is swallowed by the ground, and I lean into the ache in my calves, the ache in my lungs. Pain is easier to carry than my thoughts.
I wish I could be whole.
I wish I could be different.
I wish I could stop being like this.
The trail dips and opens to the water. I slow, chest heaving, sweat running down my temples. My shirt clings to my back.
The lake spreads out, pale and wide, the surface smooth as glass.
After the storm earlier in the week, it settled into something clearer, deeper—a dark blue, still after the rain.
I stand at the edge, catching my breath, and the sight of it eases something in me.
My chest loosens, the constant buzz of nerves quieting for a moment.
The calm reaches me in a way nothing else has.
I’m okay. That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m here. Sweat cooling on my skin. Not trapped. Still moving. I’m safe.
My eyes catch on the ripple of light across the surface, making it a brighter blue. The air feels different now—charged somehow. I blink, and suddenly my sneakers are at the edge, toes nudging against the water’s skin.
I don’t remember stepping forward. I jump back. There’s a strange rush in my chest—confusion laced with a flicker of unease. I step back further and shake it off, grounding myself in the dirt beneath my feet. Everything’s okay. Just me. Just the water.
The breeze shifts across the water, breaking the reflection into fragments. I force myself back again, turning toward the trees, but my pulse hasn’t really steadied. The calm I thought I’d found has evaporated, leaving something raw in its place.
As I come down the street toward the shop, I slow to a jog, then a walk, arms hanging loose at my sides. I unlock the front door, the scent rising to meet me like a balm—paper and lavender disinfectant. My space. I make my way to the stairs.
The moment I open the door, I hear it. The sound of Noah moving around my space.
He’s in the kitchen, barefoot in grey sweats and a pink muscle tank that reads Exercise?
I thought you said extra fries on the back.
My lips curve. His hair is a riot of dark gold catching the morning light, like he hasn’t done more than rake a hand through it.
Two mugs are waiting on the counter, green and pink.
Ciarán bought me all new mugs when I moved in here, made sure each one was colorful.
Noah turns when I step in, eyes flicking over me before giving me a shy grin. “I put the kettle on when I heard the main door open. Thought I’d make us tea.”
I stand there, sweat cooling on my back, damp shirt clinging to my chest. His gaze lingers a second too long, doesn’t it?
I shift, self-consciously, tugging at the hem of my shirt.
My cheeks are still hot—they always go red when I run, my ears, too.
Sometimes even my chest if I push hard enough.
Aiden’s the same. Fair skin that betrays us both with every rush of blood.
I must look like hell—flushed, hair sweaty, still breathing heavy. No wonder he’s looking at me like that.
I blink, trying to clear the fog of too little sleep. “Yeah. That’s... thanks.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears, and I rub at the back of my neck.
He only gives me an easy smile, there’s a warmth in his eyes that I have to look away from. My gaze lands on the counter. He’s put the spoon directly onto it and not into the sink, and for a second, I feel panic surge. If I had done that…
He passes me one of the mugs, taking me out of that thought. He makes sure his fingers don’t brush mine like they did last night. It’s deliberate, and I appreciate it more than he can ever know. Funny how something so small can mean so much.
“I wasn’t sure what you normally drink after a run, so I hope this is okay,” he says, grin turning sheepish. “It’s my favorite, found some in your stash.”