«Tell me I'm alone in this» (Chapter 2)
(Chapter 1) is here🖤
Noah Sebastian x fem!reader.
warnings: morning after, smoking, swearing/profanity, emotional intimacy, fluff.
word count:~1200🫠
You wake up cold.
Not because you’re freezing, no. Because his side of the bed is empty. And that’s wrong. Wrong that you already know how it should be. Wrong that you’ve already gotten used to his warmth. That in one night your body has rearranged itself and now doesn’t understand where is he?
You push yourself up on one elbow. Your head is heavy. Your mouth is dry. You stare at the rumpled pillow, the twisted sheets, the imprint of his body in the mattress.
And then you hear it.
The soft click of a lighter.
The balcony.
You get up. Your legs shake. Not from tiredness, from last night. From the memories still living under your skin. You pick up his shirt from the floor, put it on without buttoning it and walk toward the sound.
The balcony door is slightly open. Cold air hits your bare thighs, and you shiver, but you don’t stop.
Noah is standing by the railing. Back to you. Barefoot. In nothing but low-slung sweatpants. No shirt. You can see his back, his tattoos, his shoulder blades, the line of his spine. In one hand–a cigarette. In the other–his phone, but he’s not looking at it. He’s just standing there. Looking at the city.
You freeze.
He’s different in the morning. Not the boy you remember, not the guy from last night. Not the one Not an image from the stage. Not the one who kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life. He’s quiet. Thoughtful. And so beautiful it makes your chest ache.
“You started smoking again?” your voice is hoarse. Sleepy.
He turns slowly. And you see something in his face shift. Like he didn’t believe you were here either. Like you might be a dream.
“I never quit,” he says.
You take a step. Then another. The shirt barely covers your thighs. He watches. Doesn’t hide it.
“You swore to Nick you’d quit. You made a bet.”
He raises an eyebrow. Then looks at the cigarette in his fingers like he’s seeing it for the first time.
“Guess I lost.”
He stubs it out. Slowly, with lazy regret. Drops the butt in the ashtray and turns to face you fully.
Now you see all of him. His chest, his tattoos, the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweatpants. You force yourself to meet his eyes.
His hands find your waist. Pull you closer. You press your face into his chest. He smells like cologne, cigarette smoke, and his skin. That skin you’ve secretly breathed in so many times. When he sat next to you on the couch. When he draped his arm over the back of your chair. When he lingered outside your building a little too long.
You always loved that smell.
It was your weakness.
And he knew it.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Morning.”
He leans down and kisses you. Morning-slow. Not hungry. With the taste of tobacco and him. You respond, parting your lips. His tongue brushes yours...soft, lazy.
His hands slide down. To your hips. To bare skin under the shirt. He doesn’t do anything extra. Just holds. But you’ve already stopped breathing.
“You’re not wearing anything under this,” he says quietly.
“And?”
“And I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
You smile. He kisses your neck. Light. Barely there. You press closer, and he exhales something you can’t quite make out against your shoulder.
You stand like that for a few minutes. His fingers draw circles on your hips. You trace his back. The morning cold is gone. Only him. Only his warmth.
“I don’t know what happens now,” you say.
He lifts his head. Looks at you.
“What do you mean?”
“Us.” You run your palm over his chest. “Yesterday we were friends. And today…”
“Today we woke up in the same bed.”
“Yeah.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he brushes a strand of hair from your face.
“Do we have to label it?”
“No.”
“Then let’s just be.” He kisses your forehead. “I want to be with you. Not as a friend. As someone who loves you.”
“Me too.”
“That’s all.”
You look at him. At his messy hair. His swollen lips. His dark eyes, which no longer hold fear, only something calm. Adult.
“What do we tell Nick?” you ask.
“About the cigarettes?”
“About us.”
He smirks. Boyish, sly.
“We tell him I won. Another bet.”
You frown.
“What bet?”
Noah doesn’t answer. He just looks at you with that dark, heavy gaze, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter. I won.”
“Noah.”
“Mm?”
“What bet?”
He leans down to your ear. His breath burns.
“I’ll tell you someday. When you’re ready not to be mad.”
You pull back and search his face. He’s smiling, but there’s something possessive in his eyes, something warm and not at all “friendly.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” you say.
“Doing what?”
“Not telling me.”
“Yep.” He kisses your nose. “It’s more fun this way.”
You shake your head, but you can’t hide your smile. He pulls you close again, and you stand on the balcony, wrapped around each other, as the city wakes up below.
“I’ll find out anyway,” you mumble into his chest.
“Find out then.”
“And what happens when I do?”
He shrugs.
“Then I’ll tell you what the bet was about. But I’m afraid you’ll want to hit me.”
You lift your head.
“What if I don’t?”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then runs his knuckles gently over your cheek.
“Then maybe you’ll want me to have won.”
You don’t understand. But something flutters inside you. Something tells you this bet was about you. And judging by his expression he’s already won.
“Let’s go inside,” he says, not letting you finish the thought. “You’ll get cold.”
“And you?”
“I’ll warm up.”
You go back into the apartment. Into the smell of last night and the new morning. He lies down on the bed and pulls you with him. You settle on his chest. His arm wraps around your back.
“You know,” you say, “I was scared that in the morning things would be awkward.”
“And?”
“And they’re not.”
He kisses the top of your head.
“Because it's right.”
“Right?”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes. “Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to finally we'll be just like that.”
You’re quiet. Because he’s right. Because you were waiting too. Scared too. Wanting too.
“Noah?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad we’re not just friends anymore.”
He smiles, eyes still closed.
“Me too. And, by the way, Nick is going to be pissed.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
You lift your head and look at him. He’s lying with his eyes closed, but the smile is still on his lips. You realize this mystery will linger for a while. But somehow, that doesn’t scare you. If anything, it amuses you.
“Someday,” you whisper, settling back on his chest, “you’ll tell me everything.”
“Someday,” he agrees. “But not today.”