— Chapter 21 —

=||=||=

"Noah, wait, it's not—"

Noah cut me off.

"He fucking hit you again?"

I don't have the energy to resist as Noah stopped before me at the counter, reaching over to take gentle hold of my chin. I shuddered at the contact, Noah trailing his shaky gaze over me to get a better look at the bruises.

I exhaled shakily, feeling ashamed of myself.

"Come," he said abruptly, taking a soft hold of my wrist.

Walking with me to the edge of the counter, he headed for the back room, making me point out, "Hey, you can't ju—"

"Where's your first-aid kit?" He asked me, turning the lights on as we walked into the staff-only space. I squinted as I adjusted to the flash.

"B-Bathroom," I stuttered in reply, still surprised with the entire situation. "What do you think you're doing?"

He pushed open the door to the employee bathroom and pulled me in with him. Spotting the first-aid kit, he nodded over to the sink and went to pick up the box.

"Sit," he said.

I frowned, taking a look at the counter where the sink was. I stepped over to it after a moment's hesitation. Awkwardly hopping up onto the flat surface, I managed to get on without hitting my head on the mirror cabinet protruding from the wall.

I sat in silence as Noah washed his hands for a little while, eventually drying them with the paper towels in the corner. Leaving the first-aid kit by my thigh, he popped it open to dig through all the different packets and bandages.

"You really don't have to do all this," I mumbled, watching as he found the saline tubes and cotton pads.

He didn't answer, briefly clenching and unclenching his jaw. I bit the side of my cheek.

There wasn't much space in the small bathroom we were in. Faintly lit by a white light in the ceiling, the space had a chemical smell to it and was starting to show its age through chipping tiles and scratched surfaces.

Noah was close to me as a result, adjusting his position so that he was standing between my legs. My heart skipped a beat nervously in my chest.

"They'll get infected at this rate," he muttered softly, soaking a pad in saline. "Stay still."

I found myself holding my breath as he moved closer to me. When he lifted his hand to my face, I couldn't help but flinch away from him—shying backward slightly.

Something changed in his eyes at my action. A sad flicker of sympathy, swirling through his light, honey-brown irises.

"I'll be gentle," he promised.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting back up. With a mutter, I answered back, "I'm not a child."

Noah smiled at my response.

Getting close to me again, I sank my teeth into my lower lip as he hesitated the pad just above the cut on my cheek. Tapping it gently, he gave me a look as I cringed at the feeling of moisture.

I mumbled, "It's cold."

He gave me an apologetic look and continued. The cut still stung a bit, but I could hardly focus on that. No... I was twitching nervously as Noah breathed softly before me, cleaning up the wound with gentle touches of the soaked cotton.

"How's the headache?" He asked me as he worked.

I furrowed my brows for a moment as I recalled the god-awful drink he'd made for me this morning. The taste of it was a horror I didn't want to remember.

"Better," I answered, resting my gaze on his thick lashes. Awkwardly, I added, "Thanks for letting me stay over. I must've been a handful."

"Please," he chuckled. His tongue piercing flashed as he talked. "You should see Chains. The guy's a fucking nightmare to deal with when he's drunk. Yells the lyrics to Country Roads at the top of his lungs with his head out the window and everything. Compared to him, you're a walk in the park."

He talked as if he was trying to cheer me up, and for a little while, it worked. A small smile pulled at the sides of my lips.

There was a comfortable silence in the air as he finished up the first wound. Tearing open a band-aid packet, he stuck it to my face with care, sticking it down securely.

"I'm going to look ridiculous," I joked softly.

Strangely, aside from a short purse of his lips, he didn't answer me. I couldn't help but clench the edge of the counter with my hands, wondering why god cursed me with being so terrible at talking to people.

Soaking another pad, I noticed that his hands trembled slightly. Not only that but—he looked out of it, somehow. His skin was slightly paler than usual, and he had dark shadows beneath his quivering eyes. The whites beside his irises were twinged an irritated shade of red. Tan colors splotched the skin below his waterline, making his eyes appear more hollow. He was moving slowly, too.

He looked absolutely exhausted.

Noah tapped the pad at the cut beside my chin. For a moment, I hesitated to bring it up. But before I could stop myself, I found myself going to cup his cheek. I couldn't help but notice that his skin was ice-cold to the touch, resting my thumb just to the side of a freckle beneath his eye.

Noah's gaze locked with mine at the action, tensing slightly. Retracting the soaked cotton from my face, surprise flashed in his honey-brown irises.

My question came out as a murmur.

"...Are you okay?"

He clenched and unclenched his jaw.

Dropping his eyes from mine, they came to rest on one of my bruises. There was a twinge of sadness to his expression, but I didn't get the chance to analyze it properly.

He chuckled weakly. "I should be asking you that question."

I didn't know how to reply to him as he rested his fists at either side of my waist. It was official. He'd caged me in.

Letting out a heavy exhale as he dropped his head, he finally admitted what was on his mind.

"Angela and I broke up."

That... wasn't what I'd been expecting.

They broke up? I repeated in my mind, surprised.

I slowly slumped against the wall and spoke considerately. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He didn't look me in the eye, pausing for a moment as if to collect his thoughts.

"We had it coming," he confessed. "We've known each other since we were kids, but... I think the two of us lost whatever feelings we had for each other a long time ago. I don't know. I don't really want to go over it."

I traced over his features as he picked up the pad again. Moist lips parted briefly as he took a breath, letting me catch a sight of the silver piercing on his tongue. He would occasionally clench his jaw out of habit, gritting his teeth. Tired eyes looked around through long, dark lashes, his heavy eyelids blinking often against the drying atmosphere. His wavy locks of near-black hair fell to the sides of his forehead and reached just over his eyebrows, though he'd push it back often to get it out of his way.

Noah moved closer to me, giving me a silent notice before he began to dab at the cut on my chin. The feeling of his skin against my cheek reminded me of just how unfamiliar the feeling of physical contact was. At least, contact that was caring like this... gentle.

I couldn't help but notice how his gaze would flicker to my lips every so often, too. Or the way the fingers of his free hand would keep touching mine, but flinching away before either of us could grow accustomed to it.

He was much closer to me than he needed to be, and I was starting to think that he was doing it on purpose.

"Your old man hits you, doesn't he?"

The question didn't register in my mind at first, so when I finally understood what he'd asked, it was as if a weight had been dropped in my chest.

A shaky exhale left my lips, and I felt at a loss for words as a sick feeling began to creep into my stomach. Noah Black had figured it out.

That's right, I thought to myself. Just like always, I was nothing more than the shy loner with the ugly bruises. I was the idiot still living with his father at twenty-three fucking years old, working to pay for the only dream I had. I was the idiot who slept on park benches for some peace away from the man who beat me black and blue. I was the freak.

I was ashamed of myself. I was ashamed of my bruises. And I felt guilty.

I couldn't even look Noah in the eye, staring at my fingers. My chin trembled as I bit my lip roughly, in an effort to use pain as a distraction from the heaviness in my chest.

Noah didn't pressure me to answer, watching me with caring eyes. I was scared. Scared to admit that he was right—scared about what my father would do to me once he found out I'd been running my mouth to the first person willing to listen.

So I kept my mouth shut. And, as my fingers began to tremble, I gave Noah a small nod.

That's it, then. He knows.

Noah asked, "He's why you sleep on that bench sometimes, isn't he?"

I nodded again.

"I-It's not as bad as it looks," I lied to him. "Just... don't tell anyone. You can't tell anyone, Noah, I... I'm trusting you to leave it alone."

"Keeping it a secret and leaving it alone are two different things, Elliot," he answered. "Of course I'm not going to tell people—but I'm not just going to let you keep getting hurt, either. It's okay to ask for help sometimes."

The words felt like a slap to the face. It's okay to ask for help.

I whispered, "It's not like you can do anything about it, anyway."

His next words might've been the most surprising.

"Move in with me."

My gaze snapped up to meet his. Noah wasn't joking—there was nothing but sincerity in the determined look he gave me.

I almost choked on air.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm entirely serious," he said, finally covering the cut on my chin with a band-aid. "I have enough space, and I've been meaning to rent out that guest bedroom for months. So why not?"

"Noah."

He shrugged.

He picked up the soaked pad and spoke with a small pull at his lips. "I wouldn't mind it if you said no. But don't sleep outside when I have a spare room to give you."

"You've lost your mind," I mumbled. "I'm grateful that's you're trying to help, but..."

Noah let out a sharp breath.

"Look, I'm not asking you to make a decision right away," he said, crumpling the plastic wrapper in his hand. "But it's yours if you want it."

I bit the side of my cheek.

Moving in with Noah? My father would probably celebrate at me leaving—or there was a good chance he'd lose his damn mind. The idea seemed... wild.

"I... I'll think about it."

"Alright," he nodded briefly. Offering me a small smile, he asked, "Now are you gonna sit still? I still need to do the one on your forehead."

I gave him a soft look in response, at a loss for words.

Cringing slightly as he cleaned up the bigger cut at my forehead, I couldn't help but notice the small sting that followed. The bruise there was still painful. Noah was being so gentle, doing his best to hide the nervousness he was clearly feeling.

We sat in silence again, but I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't as uncomfortable as before.

Noah caged me in, leaning over my smaller figure. I'd didn't exactly know where to look as his light, caramel-brown eyes slowly strayed from my wound. They traced the features of my face, only to stop at my lips.

I couldn't focus on anything other than him at that moment.

His gaze flicked back upwards, connecting with mine as he realized I'd been watching his actions the entire time. 'I can't help it,' his eyes seemed to gleam.

He continued to clean the cut, but it wasn't long before I found them tracing my lips again.

Noah was so close to me—standing between my legs, with his face leaning in just above mine, and his body locking me to him. I could feel his breath softly fanning my nose, his aromatic scent of vanilla washing over me in waves. His fingers were resting just above mine, too, sending electricity soaring up my arm. Not once did his gaze linger from my lips.

Then he pulled the cotton away, slowly looking back into my eyes. I'd completely fallen under whatever spell had been cast between the two of us, using the chance to take in as much of his features as I could.

The tension was so suffocating that I found myself holding my breath.

He uttered two words ever so softly.

"We can't."

Noah, whose face was still only inches away from mine, was right.

We couldn't. He couldn't—he'd only come out of his relationship with Angela. He couldn't kiss me... he couldn't let himself be that selfish. I didn't know if I could do it, either.

At that moment, my entire world was reduced to the small bathroom space we were in.

It was as if we were fighting ourselves. Struggling tremendously to hold ourselves back, even though our bodies—like magnets—desperately craved each other. It seemed as if every fiber of my body was being pulled towards him. It was a terrible idea. A truly terrible idea.

But I wanted so badly.

Neither of us had moved an inch yet—but the tension refused to stop building. The warmth coming off him, the intoxicating scent of vanilla, the heartbeat pounding in my ears. The hairs on my arms stood on end. In the little bathroom, time had frozen for us entirely.

It wouldn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself, feeling as if I would pass out from the lack of oxygen in my lungs.

Every rational part of my brain screamed right back at me.

Don't.

You can't put yourself through this again.

We were both tiptoeing right at the edge and it was driving me insane.

Noah finally cussed.

"Fuck."

And—just like that—the edge?

We'd fallen right over.

=||A/N||=

Thanks for reading! 🥰