Chapter 13 Gabe #2
“Ciarán would drag me and Abbie out during college. Not as often after, but we always had a great time.” The small club with the sticky floor flashes in my head.
Lights low, Ciarán’s hand sealing over mine and tugging me into the crowd.
Laughing with my friends, head tipped back, stupid and happy.
And then later, Kyle’s mouth tightening at the stories, his flat voice saying, “if you loved me, you’d spend more time with me.
” It made me feel guilty for enjoying myself with my friends.
“Sounds fun,” Noah says.
“It was.” I’m aware of my fingers white-knuckling the edge of the counter. I ease them open.
“We can do something else,” he offers again.
My mouth says, “Put it on,” without any consent from my brain.
His smile goes almost boyish. “Yes, boss,” he says under his breath, and I shake my head at him, but I’m smiling again.
He pairs the controllers and hands one to me, grip-first. His palm brushes my fingers, and it’s an ordinary touch, but it sets off a line of warmth up my wrist.
The menu comes on. He scrolls through the songs and shoots me a pleased look when he hits the eighties section. “Your choice,” he says. “I won’t be good at any of them, but I will commit.”
“That almost sounds worse.”
I nod at the first song without even checking it.
“That’s my brand. Committing.” He winks and then picks “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” and I make a small, involuntary noise of distress. He hears it and grins wickedly. “This day is getting even better.”
We shift the coffee table a bit and stand side by side. It’s all so domestically unremarkable that I have the urge to rest my head on his shoulder, but I don’t; I only do things like that with Abbie and Ciarán.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The song counts down. Our on-screen avatars start throwing their limbs around like they’re possessed.
Noah looks at the screen for a beat and then just…
goes. He flails. There’s no other word for it.
He puts his whole spine into a hip twist and almost falls over.
He sings loudly and off-key, and when the “Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo” part comes, he points at me like I need to make some sort of dramatic entrance.
What the hell am I doing right now?
I feel embarrassed as I try to copy the little guy on the screen, hoping Noah isn’t watching me, but the rhythm is right there, waiting. My feet pick it up before I even think about it. It feels like my ribs loosen a notch. Noah stumbles through a spin, and I snort.
“Oh, you’re laughing,” he says, delighted, looking over. “That’s getting saved up here, with all the others.” He taps the side of his temple and winks at me again.
“Shut up and wave your arms,” I say, breathless, and he does, enthusiastic and oh so terrible.
Wait, what did he mean with all the others?
By the end of the track, I’m warm and a little dizzy. The game throws up scores and a shower of fake confetti. I win without trying, but considering Noah’s moves, I shouldn’t be surprised. He clutches his chest like he’s been wronged.
“I have been robbed,” he announces. “There must be something wrong with the console.”
“You were off the screen for half of it,” I deadpan.
“My passion cannot be contained by frame.” He scrolls again and lands on “Footloose”. “Okay. Prepare to witness athleticism.”
“I’m sorry, did you mean an exorcism?”
He snickers, “That too.”
He is somehow worse at “Footloose”. It should be illegal to have that many elbows.
I’m going to be a good friend and not bring it up for the rest of his life.
Maybe. He’s glowing—face pink, eyes bright.
He doesn’t care how he looks. He laughs at himself like his body is there to provide him with nothing but happiness.
By the next song, I stop thinking about what I’m doing.
Stop thinking about my past. I embrace the moment, I take in Noah’s light and let it fill me.
The cracks in all my broken pieces can’t contain it, and it spreads into my whole body, making me feel a sliver of pure joy.
My shoulders drop. My hips remember exactly where to hit on the beat.
I don’t mean to, but I move the way I used to let myself move, the way Ciarán taught me to, fluid and confident.
Noah stops mid-step and just… stares. “Gabe.” He exhales the word, eyes glimmering with wonder as though my dancing is something he’s impressed by. It makes me feel fuzzy. The way he says my name floats through the space, making everything feel surreal.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.
“You can dance.” It isn’t a question. It’s more than that. There’s admiration in it, and something more in his gaze that I can’t place but makes my stomach flutter.
I look at the TV, shrugging. “Not really.”
“Liar,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Keep going.”
So I do. The controller vibration thrums in my palm when I hit a move, and something releases in me with each little sensation.
The room blurs to simple things, the slap of my feet, Noah’s happy little noises when he manages to mirror a kick on time.
I realize I’m smiling widely, a real one that shows my teeth and feels almost unfamiliar on my face.
I keep my face tilted away from him, so he doesn’t see it in full force.
We cycle through songs until we’re sweaty.
I peel my cardigan off at some point and toss it on the armchair.
Noah uses the hem of his tank to mop his face.
The shirt rides up, and I get another glimpse of the lines of his stomach.
His eyes lock with mine as the shirt falls back into place, and he licks his lip.
My eyes track the movement. I tear my attention back on the TV, heart thrumming.
We flop down on the sofa, breathing loudly.
He smells like clean cotton and the salt of sweat. It’s oddly familiar, like he’s always smelled like that. I like it. I let my head fall back. My heart’s racing, but my mind feels clear. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this whole. It won’t last, I know that, but I soak it in while I can.
“Haven’t heard you laugh like that yet. I actually don’t know if I’ve ever seen you laugh properly. I thought I did when we were younger, but…” he muses after a minute. He doesn’t look at me when he says it, as if he’s trying not to scare a wild animal.
I think back on our shared past, surely I laughed with him and Aiden? The longer I think, though, I’m not sure. As much time as we spent together… I was always separate in a way. Close to them, but never one of them. I pick at a tiny hole in my jeans. “It’s been a while,” I admit.
He nods. “I figured.” He taps his controller against mine, a soft plastic click. “You were… I don’t know. Free. I liked seeing it.”
Free. I don’t feel free. But Noah says it like it’s a thing he saw in me, not a thing he expects from me. I have to look away.
“That was probably weird earlier,” he adds. “With the under-the-bed thing. I just didn’t want to be loud. Or take over. Or—”
“I never asked you to hide your stuff,” I say a little defensively. I hate the thought of him changing or hiding parts of himself.
“I know.” He smiles at the ceiling but looks sad. “You didn’t. I just didn’t want to be too much, I wanted you to let me stay.”
I let his words replay in my mind, understanding them more than I want to. I turn my head. He’s flushed, hair damp at the temples, breathing evening out.
“Don’t hide anything, don’t think you have to change anything about yourself or be different to live here,” I say. It sounds clumsy and earnest, but it’s true, I don’t want him to stop being himself to fit around me. “I like you being here… I like you the way you are.”
His mouth softens. “Yeah?”
There’s a question in his eyes I don’t know the answer to.
I nod, and my throat feels like there’s something lodged in there, but I push through it.
“And thank you. For yesterday.” The words are harder now, because dancing loosened all the careful walls, and what’s left at the core is already cracked open.
“I don’t like anyone seeing me like that. ”
“I know.” He doesn’t try to make it smaller. “You did good. You got through it.”
“It didn’t feel like I did good.”
He takes a moment to think, then nods his head slowly.
“You’re stronger than you realize, Gabe.
” My brows furrow as I consider that. I don’t feel strong.
Most days, I feel like the weakest version of myself.
He takes a moment to consider his next words, and they don’t surprise me. “Does that happen a lot?”
I can’t take my eyes off his as I speak. “A few times over the last year.”
“What can I do to help?”
That lump in my throat is growing, and I don’t want to ruin this evening by crying. It’s turned into the best day I’ve had in a very long time. “What you did was perfect.”
We smile at each other, heads tilted on the back of the sofa, just looking at each other.
“Want to do one more?” he asks in a whisper.
“I’m tired,” I respond, feeling drained. My legs are jelly. My face is hot. I want tea. I also want to watch him do the “Footloose” elbows again until I cry. “Maybe another time?”
“Tomorrow,” he says, like it’s already a plan. He reaches forward to put the controllers on the table. The movement brings him closer, his shoulder brushing mine. He doesn’t lean in. He just stays there. And I don’t mind it, it’s nice, comforting even.
He starts singing something under his breath—“Play That Funky Music.” I’m smiling again. He’s so full of simple joys.
“I was terrible,” he says cheerfully.
“You were appalling.”
“You loved it.”
I tip my head to look at him again. “I did.”
His eyes meet mine, face much closer than it was before. For a second, the air tightens. There’s something unspoken between us, humming in the space. His lips part, tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip.
I look away and clear my throat.
I feel his eyes on me. Eventually, he stands, stretches until his back cracks, and winces like he’s an old man and not two years younger than me. “Okay, I’m inhaling whatever leftovers exist. You want something?”
“Tea… and Oreos.”
The Switch sits quietly on the TV unit again. It isn’t hidden. It feels right, like it’s belonged the whole time. I like that it’s there, proof of one small, simple joy.
When he comes back, he hands me my mug and a small plate of cookies.
“Tomorrow,” he says again, settling down with his bowl on his knee. “Same time. I’ll be even worse.”
“Oh, I believe you.” That earns me another chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s got little laugh lines by his eyes, they don’t make him look older though, just… happy.
“Thanks for letting me take over your TV.”
“Our TV,” I say without thinking.
He looks at me for a long breath. “Our TV,” he agrees. “How you feeling about the event coming up?”
“Good,” I answer simply, and it’s the truth. In this moment, everything feels like it will be okay, the event, the store. Me.
“A man of few words. I like that about you.” He exhales a laugh, smile fond before going back to his food as I blush. Being quiet isn't something that everyone has appreciated about me in the past.
The silence between us is easy. The soft clink of Noah’s fork on the bowl is the only noise. I pick up my notebook and start writing while he continues eating. There’s a sweet simplicity to the moment that makes me grin.
When I look at him again, I realize how much he makes me laugh. Not just smile, but really laugh. Like it’s no big deal. Like it isn’t something I’ve been struggling to do for a long time.
Yesterday was a bad day, but he was there for me.
I don’t usually get past moments like that this fast. Normally, I’d still be stuck in my head, going over every second on a loop.
But tonight, I’m not. My chest doesn’t feel so tight.
My hands aren’t clenched. I can just… be here and play a game without waiting for something bad to happen.
The weight I’ve been dragging for years feels quieter here, like it’s sitting off to the side for once, letting me breathe.
Just two friends, playing a dumb game. I smile. He sees it and smiles back, softer this time. Like we’re both in on the same secret.