Chapter 15 NOAH
NOAH
I should be asleep.
I’m on my back with the blanket twisted around my legs, thumb pressed to the warm spot on my palm where his hand was. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his fingers sliding between mine, the quiet certainty of it. Not an accident. A choice.
I groan into the room. It’s just a hand, not a life-altering event. I need to calm the fuck down. I’m having an existential crisis over hand-holding right now.
I roll onto my side and bury my face in the pillow. It took everything not to lift our joined hands and kiss the back of his. To tell him how much that moment meant to me.
Gabe doesn’t just give affection away. When he gives it, it means he trusts the person.
So when he reached for me… fuck.
Uncertainty is there, though. A knot in the pit of my stomach, reminding me how fast I’m falling.
Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m falling or if I’ve already fallen.
What pacifies me is that I didn’t chase the moment.
I didn’t talk him into it. I didn’t make myself bigger, louder, more.
I was just sitting there, and he wanted my hand in his.
That has to mean something. Something more than friendship.
Right?
Gabe’s at the kitchen counter the next morning. Two mugs already prepared, steam curling in the air. He glances over, and the smile he gives me isn’t big, but it reaches his eyes.
He’s holding the note I left on his mug before going to bed. His thumb moving back and forth over the words.
You were amazing last night. I'm so proud of you. — N
Was that too much? Yeah, probably. Should’ve written “good job” like a normal person. But apparently, when it comes to Gabe, I have zero chill. I lean against the counter so our elbows touch. He tenses for a second, then relaxes.
“There’s lavender honey in the cabinet if you want to try it in your tea,” he says, voice still sleep-soft. “Everyone’s coming for breakfast in a bit. I think they want to make sure I haven’t freaked out.” There’s humor in his voice, a lightness to his tone that's rare.
“Of course you’d buy lavender honey,” I tease, making him chuckle. “Are you freaked out?” I ask more seriously.
He exhales through his nose, and his face takes on an almost serene look, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on the note. “No. I actually haven’t felt this good in a long time. Last night I was lying in bed thinking…” He trails off and catches my eye, biting his lip nervously.
For a moment, I think he won’t finish what he started, but then continues, “I was thinking that for the last year I’ve built all this worry up in my head about doing these things.
And then last night it was, well, not easy, but manageable, I guess.
I want to do more things like that. Push myself out of my comfort zone.
” He blinks a few times when he stops talking, like he shocked himself by telling me all that.
Before I can say anything, he floors me with his next statement. “I don’t think I could have done it without you there. You help me feel… like me again.”
“Gabe,” I breathe his name, astonishment in my tone. This beautiful man is so brave and capable. I wish he could see what I do. “You don’t need me to do these things, you’re so capable, but I’m glad to be by your side while you remember that.”
We share a quiet smile. Neither of us moves away. It’s too long to be casual. He taps his mug against mine in a shy cheers, and when he licks his lips, his eyes dip to mine, his lips part as he leans closer—like he’s right on the edge of—
Knocking cuts through the apartment.
My head snaps toward the door as he jolts, then shakes his head. “That’ll be Ciarán…”
He walks to the hall, opening the door. “You’re early.”
Ciarán’s all boundless energy. “If you’re not early, you’re late. Also, the bakery sells out of the good shit quickly. Be grateful I didn’t just let myself in, I’m still waiting for that picture.”
“Ciarán,” I hear Gabe warn gently.
What picture is he talking about?
When they both come into the kitchen, Ciarán gives me a wink before he starts flitting around, laying out pastries.
“Oh, you got almond croissants too?” Gabe asks hopefully, trying to peek in the bag.
“See? Showing up early gets results. You’re welcome,” he throws over his shoulder with a flick of his hair.
Gabe stands close to me and sighs quietly, the kind someone does when they’re pretending not to be fond. “He’s such a brat,” he tells me, smiling at Ciarán’s back.
Abbie shows up next, and Aiden arrives a few minutes later, damp from the rain.
Steam fogs the kitchen window. The table’s a mess—napkins, pastry bags, colorful mugs that don’t match. Abbie perches cross-legged on the kitchen counter, a highlighter tucked behind her ear for reasons unknown. “Local news,” she announces. “New florist on Main? Very cute.”
Ciarán lights up. “Yes! Petal & Thorn. Enamel pins, queer romance book by the till, and a ‘Support Trans Kids’ sticker on the door. Absolutely queer family. Case closed.” He dusts his hands off each other.
“You can’t just declare someone family on sight,” Abbie snorts.
“I didn’t,” Ciarán insists, palms up like he’s showing proof. “I gathered evidence and presented my findings based on facts.”
Gabe’s mouth quirks like he’s trying not to smile. “He stops by the shop most weeks. Seems nice—just a little awkward.”
“That ginger hair, all those freckles. And he’s awkward, too! Adorable,” Abbie squeals.
Aiden moves to the sofa and takes the corner, long legs stretched out, thighs spread, one arm along the back while he sips his tea.
Ciarán gets up from the dining table and drops beside him, then swings his legs between Aiden’s like it’s his God-given right.
My eyebrows fly up as my gaze shoots to Gabe in question. He rolls his lips between his teeth.
Abbie mutters a resigned, “Here we go.” Aiden doesn’t shove them off, though, just sets his jaw.
“Do you ever smile, Shaw?” Ciarán asks sweetly, tapping Aiden’s calf with the toe of his boot. “Or are you saving it for a special occasion?”
“Saving it for when you finally stop talking,” Aiden grumbles.
Gabe looks to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
I’m getting the feeling this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.
Why has Aiden never mentioned this before?
It makes no sense, we’ve always spoken about everything.
He’s mentioned Gabe’s friends in passing before, but never details, never that he and Ciarán are apparently in some weird showdown.
Abbie turns the kettle on. “New bet. If Ciarán gets a smile out of Aiden before I pour more tea, Aiden buys the pastries next time. If not, Ciarán does Gabe’s dishes for a week.”
“I don’t mind doing dishes, I’d rather him clean the toilet,” Gabe pipes up, making me snort and mouth, “demanding,” at him with faux shock.
He dips his chin, but I see the edge of his gleaming smile, teeth on show.
It’s gorgeous. Everything about him is. I just wish he'd aim that thing directly at me, let me bask in its beauty.
Ciarán grins, cerulean eyes sparkling. “Finally, a worthy challenge.”
“Don’t bother, you won’t get one,” Aiden mutters.
Ciarán steals his mug, takes a sip, and grimaces. “No sugar. Of course. Even your tea is boring.”
Aiden snatches it back, placing it on the table, nostrils flaring. “I’m not fucking boring.”
“Mhmm.” Ciarán tears off a piece of croissant, holding it out. “Feed me, Daddy?”
Aiden stares, unblinking. “Absolutely not.”
Ciarán pops it into his own mouth and licks his fingers suggestively. The glint of a tongue bar shows. He drags his gaze from Aiden’s mouth back to his eyes purposefully. The little shit is really trying to get a rise.
I peek at Gabe. He’s already looking at me, shoulders shaking with silent laughter at the look on my face. “Should we make our own bet? Five dollars on each bestie?” I whisper conspiratorially.
He shakes his head, a sly grin showing. “Nah. That’s like taking candy from a baby, my besties got this.”
That makes me chuckle. It’s a pleasure all in itself to see his playful side.
“The broody thing’s really working for you,” Ciarán purrs.
“Shut up and eat your pastry,” Aiden grunts.
“With pleasure.” Ciarán crosses his legs between Aiden’s like he’s won.
Abbie speaks to Gabe. “Could I bring my GSA club to the store for a tour? I want to show them your range of queer books.”
Gabe brightens at that. “Oh yeah? That would be cool. I could do more goodie bags with YA queer stories.” His voice is so earnest, and the fact that he wants to do something for these kids to get them into reading makes me melt.
Ciarán swivels without missing a beat. “I could do a ten-minute intro on queer joy in fiction. I’ve edited some amazing stories lately.”
“Classroom-friendly,” Abbie warns.
“I can behave for ten minutes.”
“You can’t behave for ten seconds,” Aiden scoffs.
“Watch me,” Ciarán fires back. A second passes. “Seven minutes?”
“Overly optimistic,” Aiden mutters.
Gabe’s voice goes all soft and tender. “Maybe you could get a list of what they like, so I have recommendations ready for them? I want them to know they’re safe here.”
“Fuck, Gabe, you are adorable! It’ll be feral. Teenagers are wild,” Ciarán states affectionately. He sees how Abbie is glaring at him. “Safest feral you’ll ever see, though.”
“You’re feral,” Aiden says flatly.
“Feral sees feral.” Ciarán presses his pointed boot into Aiden’s leg—hard enough to make him grunt. Aiden glares at a cushion as he picks at an invisible thread, refusing to look at anyone.
I lean toward Gabe to whisper, “Seriously, what is happening here?”
“A power struggle.” He laughs quietly, leaning into me. Fuck, that’s nice. I wish he’d do that every day.
I scratch at my chin. “Is this normal for them?”