Chapter 15 Noah
Noah
A persistent buzzing against the side of my head drags me out of sleep, and I blink in confusion at my surroundings. Somehow, I fell asleep on my couch, curled under the throw blanket with one leg hanging off the edge. I grab my phone from under my head and kill my alarm, squinting at the screen.
…Then my heart drops.
I don’t respond to his text, though. It’s not because I don’t want to, I just don’t know how to say anything without sounding desperate or clingy. I’m not built for pretending; Damien has always been better at that than me.
So, I put my phone down and start my morning the way I always do.
I stand and stretch, roll my shoulders, then fold my throw blanket before heading to the kitchen.
If I don’t follow my morning routine, my entire day will feel wrong.
I think it’s part of the reason I felt so out of control living in the Sin Bin.
My apartment is quiet enough that I can hear my own soft footsteps, but I like that.
I like knowing what sounds belong to me.
I rinse my hands, start the kettle, and line up what I need on the counter in the same order I always do. Mug, spoon, coffee, sweetener, and creamer. I could do all this with my eyes closed, and that’s the point. It keeps me grounded when everything feels as if it might drop out from under me.
While the kettle heats, I open the drawer where I keep my meds.
Then I place the pills beside my mug, grab a glass of water, and down them without letting myself hesitate.
My brain tries to throw up the old resentment that I need chemicals to quiet the noise and be a functional person, but I refuse to entertain them.
Today is not the day when I let my mind pick a fight with me over basic care.
Coffee first, then food, meds, shower, clothes, and classes. That’s the sequence that makes me feel less overwhelmed and more in control.
After preparing the coffee, I make myself two slices of peanut butter and honey toast because it’s quick and I can handle the texture right now. I pick up my phone and look at my calendar and to-do list, even though I know it hasn’t changed overnight.
Then, because my brain keeps circling back to the same thing, I go to my messages and open the thread with Damien.
It’s weird to remember all the times I deleted his number over the past few years because it hurt to see his name on my contact list. I saved it again when I moved into the Sin Bin because some part of me couldn’t handle him being gone in every possible way all at once.
I’m so pathetic.
I stare at my coffee and wonder if wanting him is always going to be a wrong thing, or if it was only wrong when our parents were together. His mother moved out about a year after he left, and last I heard, she’s in Australia and already engaged to someone else.
Sighing, I push all those thoughts away and continue with my routine.
Between classes, I check my phone even though I tell myself I won’t.
Sage and Nate have been wanting to come over, but I asked them to give me some time to settle in.
My chest sinks every time I see that I have no new messages from Damien, then I scold myself for even feeling that way.
I didn’t even text him back, and I can’t demand consistency when I’m not even reciprocating.
By noon, my head feels stuffed with cotton; today has just not been my day. As I’m walking across the quad, my phone finally buzzes, but it’s Adrian.
Adrian: Free period. Wanna meet up for coffee?
I stop mid-step, the cold wind hitting my face so hard that my eyes water.
From what I’ve learned since getting to know him yesterday, he’s not quite like the others who live in the Sin Bin, and not one who texts casually.
Adrian is intentional and precise with his time, so if he’s asking me to meet up for coffee, it’s because he wants to.
Me: Sure. Same weird place that smells like cinnamon and pumpkin spice?
Adrian: It’s not weird, you just have no taste.
I snort quietly and let him know I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
When I get there, Adrian is waiting in the corner booth we took last time—hoodie pulled up, but his red locks spill out from under it despite his attempt to tame them. His green eyes soften when they land on me, and honestly, it feels good to be looked at like that.
“Hey,” I say as I slide in across from him, just as a waitress walks out with two cups.
He gives me a small nod, then nudges the second cup toward me. “Hazelnut latte, no sugar, drizzle of honey,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches when he sees the look on my face. “What?”
I let out a disbelieving laugh and shake my head. “I’m surprised you remembered that. Thank you.”
Adrian shrugs. “You mentioned that you only have hazelnut lattes in the middle of the day, since you prefer not to drink a lot of caffeine after 3 p.m. I tend to remember things about my friends.”
He says it so casually, not realizing how much it means to me that he remembered something I don’t even remember saying yesterday. The consideration makes my chest feel all warm again, and I lift the cup to have a sip.
Adrian studies me for a moment, fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug, then asks, “You okay today?” The tone of his voice is careful, the way you ask when you actually want to hear the answer.
It’s a simple question, but I don’t exactly have a simple answer.
I hesitate, wrapping both hands around the ceramic, feeling the warmth seep into my palms, and let my gaze drop to the table.
“I’m…” I pause, searching for accuracy while my thumb drags back and forth over the mug. “Tired, but not bad.”
He nods at my answer, lips pressing together. After a beat, he glances down at the table, then back at me, and hesitates before speaking. “Damien said you felt that living in the Sin Bin was too performative, and I wanted to say that I get it.”
My eyes widen in surprise, and I lift my head, searching his face for a tell. “He did?” The words slip out sharper than I mean.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “He mentioned it when we were shooting hoops in the back the day you left.”
Letting out a sigh, I decide to be honest because pretending would be pointless. “I… Everything got a bit too much for me. The parties, the dinners, needing to always be up for ‘fun.’ Everyone is loud, and if you don’t match their energy, they assume you’re upset. Or rude.”
Adrian’s gaze holds mine for a second longer than I expect. “You’re not rude, but they don’t mean any harm, I promise. They just… don’t notice when the noise isn’t fun.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Exactly that.”
He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and tilting his head, watching me in that way that makes it hard to hide anything.
“You know…” he trails off, his eyes dropping to his cup before darting back to me. “I don’t like the parties, either.”
I blink, caught off guard by the admission, and set my mug down. “You don’t?” I ask, trying to remember if I’ve ever actually seen Adrian at the parties or just assumed he was there because everyone else was.
Adrian shakes his head. “I go because I have to, since I’m one of the top athletes living at Blackthorne’s unofficial frat house.
That, and my mom is a coach to some of the best collegiate athletes in Cali, so I have to be ‘close friends with the King and Devereaux boys’ according to her,” he says, rolling his eyes on the last words.
“I love the guys, and they’re some of my best friends, but I’ve perfected the art of bullshitting, at this point. ”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile that with the image I have of Adrian as unbothered, calm, and always steady. “What happens if you don’t go to the parties? And don’t give me that ‘it’s mandatory’ excuse Ryan gave me.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but it’s gone just as quickly. “If I don’t go, they’ll ask questions. I don’t being put on the spot.”
That sounds like something I would say, so I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “I get that.”
That ghost of a smile from before curves into a real one, and I notice dimples I didn’t realize he had. He hides the smile by taking a quick sip of coffee, then sets the cup down and lets out a quiet sigh, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Wanna know something no one knows about me?” he asks, his voice dropping as if the secret will spill out and ruin us both.
The sudden subject change makes me sit up straighter. “What? Uhm… yes, of course. Sure.”
“I don’t…” he trails off, and I can see him swallowing hard. “I don’t really want to be a goalie forever. Yeah, I’m good at it—I know I’m good—but it feels as if I’m living someone else’s plan.”
I sit very still and don’t interrupt him, my heart in my throat because it sounds like he’s taken those words right out of my mouth. I watch the way his knuckles whiten against his coffee cup, and I don’t breathe for a second.
He exhales slowly. “My dad played soccer, so it was his thing before his big injury. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and I went along with it because… well, he’s my dad and we were close. He was so fucking happy when I got my full ride.”
I realize he’s speaking in the past tense when his smile suddenly turns sorrowful, and I want to reach across the table but keep my hands where they are, afraid to push.
“But then… then he died a month before I started at Blackthorne, and I had to pretend I wanted this. I couldn’t leave because it felt like I was spitting on his memory, so…
here I am. Pretending is easier than fighting with my mother about leaving. ”
“Oh, my god, Adrian,” I say, swallowing back tears for him. “I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine…”
He shakes his head. “It’s alright, I guess. I feel closer to him when I’m on the field. But when I’m in classes or alone, I don’t think about soccer at all. I think about… other things.”
He blushes and looks away when he says this, and now I’m even more intrigued. “What things?” The question slips out, curiosity making me bold.
“Music,” he immediately says, and when he meets my eyes again, there’s a sparkle in them. “Sound design. I mess around with editing and mixing; it’s what I’m studying here. I don’t tell the guys that I’m good at mixing because they’d ask me to make them playlists, and I’d rather die.”
A startled laugh slips out of me, and Adrian’s mouth twitches in approval. “That’s so cool,” I say honestly. “But why won’t you tell them, besides the playlist thing?”
He sighs. “Because it’s mine, and once something is shared, it stops being just that.”
That familiar truth hits me square in the ribs, and I nod slowly. “That’s how I used to feel about my photography.”
Adrian studies me, then says in an even quieter tone, “ I also don’t… want what everyone else seem to want. It’s one of the biggest reasons I hide so much about myself from them.”
I blink at that. “What do you mean?”
He holds my gaze steadily, biting his lip.
“You know how most of the guys in the house are, right? They basically have revolving doors of partners, and I guess that’s normal for college kids.
But… I’m not interested in that. Not really, anyway.
I like people and connection and closeness—the rest doesn’t call to me at all. ”
It takes a few seconds for me to understand what he’s saying. But when it clicks, my brain starts to scramble into that usual panic response of ‘say the right thing, don’t mess it up, don’t offend him, don’t make it weird.’
I force my shoulders to relax and keep my voice even.
“I don’t see anything wrong with that. Sex doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone, you know?
” I keep my eyes on him, hoping he can see how much I mean it.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting different things, or wanting less, or wanting more. You’re not weird for it. I promise.”
Adrian lets out a slow breath, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Yeah. I know. I just… It’s easier to keep that part quiet. If I say I’m not interested, everyone wants a reason, and they start asking questions, or they try to fix whatever is wrong.”
I nod, a deep understanding tightening in my chest. “I get that too. When people find out I don’t go out much, or that I prefer to be alone, they act as if it’s some phase I’ll grow out of, not something that makes me feel safe.”
He offers me a small smile. “It’s not something to fix.”
“Right,” I say softly, my lips curving at the corners. “It’s just who you are.”
Adrian fidgets in his seat, glancing away, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I like that you don’t make a big deal about it. That you don’t push.”
I shrug, heat rising in my own cheeks. “It irks me when people push, and makes me feel as if I have to explain myself all the time, and I never really know how.”
We sit in that gentle quiet, the kind that feels full instead of awkward. The air between us buzzes with an easy understanding that I don’t really find with a lot of people.
“Thanks,” Adrian says after a moment. “For listening.”
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it. “But I have to know… why are you so comfortable talking to me? Not that I mind, it’s just, we don’t really know each other, and I know you don’t really talk to most people.”
Adrian looks down at his hands, then back up at me. “Because sometimes it gets a bit lonely,” he says simply. “And you seem like a good person. You don’t push, and you don’t make people feel stupid for being quiet.”
I nod once, because if I try to speak right now, my voice will crack.
We say our goodbyes soon after that, needing to go to our separate classes. But our conversation lingers in my mind long after I get home that evening. I never thought I’d meet another person with similar traits to me, or that they’d become my friend.
I guess Blackthorne isn’t so bad after all.