Chapter 7 Gabe
GABE
I towel-dry my hair as I head for my room. Running this morning helped, but only a little—there’s still a restless hum under my skin. I can’t believe I woke Noah up last night.
I also can’t believe he got a tattoo based on a book I gave him. It makes me feel like we’ve been connected in some strange way all this time, but I never even knew. The moment he mentioned it, I had the urge to ask him to show me. I obviously didn’t, that would have been too… intimate.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a navy T-shirt, the fabric soft from years of washing, then shrug into the chunky knit cardigan I reach for on days I need grounding.
I hear Noah in the hallway, heading into the bathroom.
My hair is still damp when I stand in front of the mirror and try to flatten it into something passable.
The stubborn wave refuses to cooperate, repeatedly falling over my forehead.
My eyes catch on the scar curving over my right cheekbone. I tell myself to look away, don’t linger on it. Don’t get stuck there. But I can’t.
Everything in me stills.
The room tilts, sound narrowing to a dull buzzing like I’ve ducked my head underwater. My body is here, feet planted on the floor, but I can’t quite feel the weight of them. My face doesn’t look like mine. I try to raise my hand to it, but it doesn’t move.
My throat closes up, breath turning shallow. The cardigan that felt soft seconds ago is suddenly suffocating, the material scratching at the skin it touches.
Memories rush me, uninvited and unwanted—the crack of ceramic, the hot sting of impact, Kyle’s face contorted with anger. It feels like I’m back there, rooted to the spot, waiting for another blow.
He’s still in my mind. I can’t escape him. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe if I’d stayed quiet, been better, been less pathetic.
My throat burns. I blink, my vision blurs, and suddenly, tears are falling down my face. I drag my sleeve over my cheeks like I can wipe them away before anyone sees, but there’s no one in the room with me. It’s just me. Me and the quiet, and this dark void that’s taken up residence inside my mind.
Then—faint at first, but so out of place it jars me—I hear it.
Off-key singing drifting from the hall.
“Oh mama dear, we’re not the fortunate ones...”
The sound cuts through the memories. Not loud enough to scare me, but enough to snap me back into my body.
Noah.
The sound swells as I step closer to the hall, his voice getting louder, bolder. He’s really going for it.
I can't help but laugh. The tightness in my chest eases as I picture him in the bathroom, toothbrush as a microphone in hand, belting out Cyndi Lauper like he’s on stage.
By the time I reach the kitchen, I’m still smiling.
The bathroom door opens with a soft creak. I catch a glimpse down the hall—Noah, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and curling at the ends—before disappearing into his room. I swallow roughly. I feel a strange tinge of disappointment that I didn’t get a look at his compass tattoo.
I busy myself in the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting out two mugs, the routine calming my nerves further.
When he comes out again, he’s ready for the day—black athletic shorts and a baby-blue muscle tank that makes his eyes look brighter than I remember.
When I look closer, I see it says I’m into fitness—fit’ness whole taco in my mouth on the front.
I bite back a smile. Where does he even find these tops?
He looks focused. “Morning,” he says, voice warm but a little distracted.
“Morning,” I answer, as I hand him the mug I’ve already poured.
He takes it with a thanks, brows lifting slightly in question when he notices me looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, then hesitate before adding, “except… that was some impressive singing.”
He freezes halfway through his first sip, then grins—it’s wide and surprised, and maybe a little pleased?
“You heard that?”
“Hard not to,” I tease lightly, my cheeks heating even as the corner of my mouth tips up. I duck my head to hide it.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… expect a repeat. Special perks of having me as a roommate.”
Then he winks at me, and I have to look away for a second.
“Lucky me,” slips out before I realize what I’m saying.
Something flickers in his expression—okay, so definitely pleased—and then he’s grinning again. He’s got one of those sunshine smiles—bright, a little crooked, and somehow even better because it’s not perfect.
“So today’s a busy day?” I ask, feeling the need to connect with him more. I’ve been quiet the last few days, nervous with him here, but he seems like the same Noah I’ve always known, and that makes me feel more comfortable.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip. “We’re almost there. Last shipment of weights came in yesterday, so we’re setting up the area for those today. Aiden’s coming, and Zeke’s got a plan for the layout that should keep things flowing. Jules wants to test-run a couple class setups before we open.”
I nod, even though I don’t know what half of that means, and watch him as he talks.
He moves with easy confidence, his free hand gesturing as he describes something about spacing out the squat racks.
Everything about him is light—the way he leans back against the counter, the way his mouth curves when he talks about the gym.
I find myself smiling softly without meaning to.
He notices, his own lips curving to match mine. “What’s the smile for?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, wrapping my hands around my mug. “Just glad it’s coming together for you and Aiden.”
That earns me a softer smile. “Yeah. Me too. I’m glad I’m back here.”
Weirdly, so am I.
There’s a knock at the door before I can think of anything else to say—two sharp raps, then, “Gaaaaabe! Open up!”
Oh no. Ciarán.
I sigh, ready to accept my fate.
Noah glances over his shoulder as he walks toward his room, one brow lifting. My eyes drift to his neck, trying to get a peek at his tattoo, but it’s too hard to see.
I clear my throat, feeling my stomach flutter. Why am I so worried about him liking them?
“My friends. They come over every Sunday.”
He smirks, and there’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes, like he’s been warned about them—which, knowing Aiden, he probably has.
Another knock, louder this time. “Gabe!”
I wipe my hands on a tea towel and head for the door. “Coming,” I call, voice a little too quiet to carry, but the knocking stops anyway.
The second I open it, Ciarán breezes in. His heeled boots click on the floor as he spins in the entryway, tossing his leather jacket toward the rack. It misses, of course, landing on the floor.
“You’re lucky I knocked,” he says cheerfully, bending to retrieve it. “I was fully prepared to use my key and make a dramatic entrance.”
Abbie steps in after him, balancing a paper bag. “Be nice,” she warns him, though she’s snickering, squeezing past me into the kitchen. “We brought breakfast.”
“Why didn’t you use your key?” I ask as we walk to the kitchen.
“Nah, don’t want to intrude now that you have a roommate,” she tells me.
Ciarán pipes up, “I personally wanted to intrude, but she wouldn’t let me.”
I purse my lips, fighting a laugh. “Since when can anyone stop you from doing what you want?” I ask teasingly, making him chuckle.
Then Noah’s door opens, and he strolls out, pulling a hoodie over his head. Ciarán freezes for half a second, then his mouth curves. “Oh, hello.”
Noah doesn’t look thrown. “Morning,” he says easily.
“You’re very chill for someone being ambushed,” Abbie states, already unpacking pastries.
“Well, you have food,” Noah says, patting his stomach, smirking as he takes in the scene. “You must be Abbie and Ciarán. Aiden told me to watch out for you.”
Abbie nods her head in understanding, mirth lacing her tone as she side-eyes Ciarán. “Oh, I’m sure he told you to watch out for one of us, alright.”
Ciarán gasps dramatically. “He did not?! I’m a fucking delight!”
Noah’s eyes sparkle, and he throws me another wink before looking back at Ciarán. “That’s exactly what he said, actually.” Sarcasm drips from his tone, which earns him a playful eye roll from Ciarán.
I feel a rush of relief, seeing Noah easily connect with my people.
Abbie laughs, shaking her head. “Come sit. Eat something before you run off and do gym boy things.”
By the time the pastries are on plates, Noah’s taken the chair across from me, looking easy in a way that shouldn’t make me so happy, but does. He just seems to fit so well.
Ciarán drops into the seat next to Noah, propping his chin on one hand and eyeing him in a manner that spells trouble.
“Alright, Noah, a.k.a. mysterious new roommate that has somehow managed to evade us all these years,” he says, eyes bright with mischief. “What are your intentions with our Gabe?”
Heat crawls up my neck so fast I’m sure it shows. “Ciarán,” I mutter, but he only smirks at me like he’s doing me a favor.
Noah blinks, then lets out a quiet laugh. “My intentions?” He shakes his head, still smiling. “To be a good roommate… Maybe convince him to be my friend.” His eyes slide to mine, some emotion I can’t read shining in those blue depths. “Hopefully.”
The words cause something to rise in me—a soft, startled ache that feels too close to hope.
I’d like to be his friend; he was always Aiden’s, and I got to spend time with him by extension.
I didn’t have many friends when we were young.
I was so shy and quiet. When Noah got into reading, he started spending more time with me talking about books.
He was always quieter around me than everyone else, not like he didn’t want to speak to me, but more like he was relaxed, maybe.
Sometimes, when I was lonely and saw him hanging around with my brother, I’d think it wasn’t fair that he was Aiden’s best friend. I felt like he should have been mine.
Now, though… I drop my gaze to my mug, hiding the grin I can’t stop. Color rushes to my face.
Abbie beams, “Oh, he’s good.”
“Acceptable,” Ciarán says with mock gravity, though there’s a glint of approval in his eye. “But we’ll be watching.”
Noah shrugs, lips curved, and somehow the air feels warmer than it did seconds ago.
Abbie swats at Ciarán with a napkin. “Okay, enough. We’re supposed to be nice.”
“This is me being nice,” Ciarán says, widening his eyes innocently. “I haven’t even asked about his tragic backstory yet.”
Noah laughs again, it’s a comforting sound, deep and warm, and I realize how much I like it.
“He doesn’t have one,” I murmur, tearing my croissant in half, hoping I’m right.
“Everyone has one,” Ciarán counters, but his voice softens when he glances at me.
Noah shakes his head, amused. “Not so much. Pretty sure mine wouldn’t even make the highlight reel.”
“That’s a relief,” I say, the words slipping out. The thought of something bad happening to him makes me feel sick. When Noah glances at me, I duck my head toward my plate.
Ciarán claps his hands, eyes lasered on Noah. “Fine. We’ll start with the basics. Do you like to read? And please don’t say yes only to say your favorite genre is health.” He says the word like it tastes bad.
Noah barks a laugh. “I do like to read, mainly fantasy.”
Abbie and Ciarán make oh and ah noises.
“See?” I say, surprised by the flicker of ease in my own voice. “He’ll fit right in.”
Noah looks surprised that I said anything at all, and I can’t keep eye contact with him.
Ciarán is back on it.
“Sexuality?”
“Ciarán!” I hiss at him, but Noah is taking it all in stride, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Abbie drops her head, but I hear the snort escape her. I ask myself weekly why my friends are like this, but I’d also never change them.
“I’m bi,” Noah answers easily.
Ciarán nods before continuing. “Interesting. Favorite drink order?”
I sigh in relief, hoping he keeps the rest of the questions tame.
“Tough one. Coffee. Black. Or mint tea.”
“Boring, but not offensive. Favorite movie?”
“Die Hard.”
Abbie groans loudly. “Of course it is.”
“It’s a classic!” Noah defends, eyes dancing.
I laugh, unable to help it. “How are you not sick of that movie? You watched it so many times growing up.”
“And we will be watching it again while I live here,” he teases, pumping his eyebrows.
Ciarán’s eyes ping pong between us as he smiles, before waving a hand. “Last one. Most important. Your feelings on Italian food.”
Noah pretends to think, then says, “Pro. Very strongly pro.”
Ciarán claps. “We can keep him.”
“Good,” I say dryly. “I hear returning roommates is a lot of paperwork.”
Abbie giggles. Noah is watching me, eyes soft but intense. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that I can’t make sense of.
The table is noisy, full of overlapping voices. It should feel overwhelming, but somehow it doesn’t.
Ciarán keeps the spotlight on himself enough that I don’t feel it burning me. Abbie’s gentle nudges keep things from tipping into chaos. And Noah looks like he’s been here all along. He fits perfectly.
When he glances over again with a warm smile and catches my eye, I don’t look away quickly. Just a flicker of connection, before I drop my gaze back to my plate, lip between my teeth, holding my smile at bay.