Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you froze, because this didn’t happen. Not with him. Your heart started pounding as his name lit up your screen—calling. Your thumb hovered, caught between answer and decline. It was so simple. It should have been easy. But it wasn’t. It was impossible.
The ringing almost stopped, and that—that—was what broke you.
Your thumb moved. “…Hello?”
“I’m here.”
His voice was breathless, like he’d already been running, like he hadn’t even stopped to think. “Where are you?”
“…Down the block.”
“Don’t move.”
The call ended.
And then you heard it—footsteps. Fast.
You turned, and there he was, running toward you. This time, he didn’t stop.
“You were really just going to walk away.”
“You already let me.”
“I know,” he said, his voice tight but steady. “But I’m not doing that again.”
“You don’t get to decide that alone.”
“I’m not,” he said, softer now. “I’m asking you not to.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and fragile.
“Why now?”
“Because you were right.”
Your breath caught.
“I should’ve trusted you,” he said, the words coming out like they’d been sitting in his chest too long. “And I don’t want to watch you walk away again and do nothing.”
“You’re still going to leave sometimes.”
“I know.”
“And I’m still going to hate it.”
“I know.”
“And this still might hurt.”
“I know.”
The silence returned, but it felt different now. Not empty. Not ending. Just… waiting.
“But I want to try anyway.”
You stepped closer, closing the space you had fought so hard to create.
“Then don’t let go this time.”
His hand found yours without hesitation, like it already knew where it belonged.
“I won’t.”
And for the first time that night, you believed him.
That low, constant hum of work already in motion wrapped around her the second she stepped inside—cases rolling across concrete, voices echoing off high ceilings, the distant thud of equipment being locked into place. It settled into her bones faster than she expected, like her body remembered something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
Sloane slowed slightly as they walked in, her eyes moving instinctively across the space.
Layout.
Placement.
Flow.
Nothing conscious.
Just habit.
Behind her, Noah’s hand slid along her lower back again, steady and grounding, like he didn’t trust the space to hold her the way he did.
“You’re doing it,” he murmured.
Sloane didn’t look at him.
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you take in everything at once.”
A small smile pulled at her mouth.
“I told you. I’m working.”
“You’ve been here five seconds.”
“And?”
Noah huffed a quiet breath, but there was no real argument in it. His hand didn’t leave her, his thumb brushing absently along her side as they moved further inside.
Jolly spotted them first.
“Hey—there she is.”
His voice carried easily across the space, cutting through the noise just enough to pull attention their way.
Sloane looked up, already smiling.
“Miss me?” she called back.
“Debatable,” Folio answered from somewhere behind him.
Jolly shook his head. “Ignore him. Yeah, we missed you. It’s been boring.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It is,” he said. “Which is why we’re fixing it.”
Sloane laughed softly as they got closer, the familiarity settling in immediately.
No awkwardness.
No hesitation.
Just… easy.
Jolly pulled her into a quick side hug before stepping back, looking her over like he was checking something.
“You’re really doing this?” he asked.
“Apparently,” she said.
Folio stepped in next, nudging Jolly out of the way with his shoulder.
“Finally,” he said. “Someone competent.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “You say that like I wasn’t already helping you before.”
“Yeah, but now it’s official,” he replied. “Feels different.”
Nick approached last, his expression more measured, but his attention steady as it landed on her.
“Good to have you back,” he said.
There was no teasing in it.
No exaggeration.
Just truth.
Sloane nodded once.
“Good to be back.”
And it was.
That was the part she hadn’t fully expected.
How natural it would feel.
Like she hadn’t stepped away from it at all.
Like this part of her had just been… waiting.
Noah stayed close the entire time, his presence constant at her side, his hand shifting from her back to her hand without thinking as the conversation moved around them.
Jolly noticed.
Of course he did.
“You gonna let her breathe at any point?” he asked.
Noah didn’t even look at him.
“No.”
That got a laugh.
“Possessive,” Folio muttered.
“Observant,” Noah corrected.
Sloane shook her head slightly, but her fingers tightened just a little in his.
“You’re not helping your case,” she murmured.
“I’m not trying to.”
That made her glance at him.
And there it was again—
that look.
Soft.
Focused.
Like everything else blurred out around her.
It still got to her.
Every time.
“You’re staring again,” she said quietly.
“You’re here,” he replied.
Same answer.
Same certainty.
Sloane huffed a soft breath, but her free hand came up anyway, brushing lightly along his jaw before she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“Okay,” Jolly said immediately. “Nope. That’s enough of that.”
“You’re the one watching,” Sloane shot back.
“Because you’re doing it in front of me.”
“Then stop looking.”
Folio snorted. “Not how that works.”
Nick just shook his head slightly, but there was a hint of amusement there now.
“Focus,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to get through.
That shifted things.
Not completely.
But enough.
Sloane felt it settle in her chest as she turned back toward the space, her attention sharpening again.
Work.
Responsibility.
This wasn’t just familiarity.
This mattered.
“You want me at front of house?” she asked.
Nick nodded. “Start there. Everything’s loaded in, but I want another set of eyes on it.”
“Alright.”
Sloane stepped forward, but Noah’s hand tightened slightly before letting go.
She paused, glancing back at him.
“I’ll be right there,” she said.
Noah nodded.
“I know.”
But he still watched her go.
Sloane could feel it.
Even without looking.
She moved through the space easily, slipping into the flow of it like she hadn’t been gone at all. Her eyes tracked everything automatically—connections, placements, movement patterns.
And for a second—
it felt good.
Really good.
Like something clicking back into place.
But then—
something didn’t.
Her steps slowed slightly.
Just half a beat.
Her gaze catching on something near the side of the stage.
A cable.
Positioned wrong.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for anyone else to stop.
But enough.
Sloane frowned slightly, her attention narrowing.
That hadn’t been like that before.
She knew it hadn’t.
Her eyes lingered for a second longer—
Then she looked away.
Because it was nothing.
It had to be.
Behind her, laughter broke out again—Jolly saying something she couldn’t quite catch, Folio responding immediately, the easy rhythm of them filling the space.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
From across the room—
Gabe watched.
He leaned lightly against a case, his posture relaxed, his presence blending easily into the background of movement and noise.
A/N: I'm trying out different writing styles and trying to figure out which I like, so this is going to read differently than the last two. Please let me know which you prefer. :)
Noah Sebastian x Y/N
Masterlist
(Part 3)
The night swallowed you the rest of the way down the block, the sound of your footsteps too loud in your own ears, like they were trying to convince you to turn around. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything it had taken just to get this far.
Behind you, he hadn’t moved. Not at first. He stood there on the sidewalk, phone still in his hand, the screen dimming slowly as if even it understood what had just slipped through his fingers. A missed call. From you. His jaw tightened, his thumb hovering over your name like it might burn him if he touched it again. Because you had called. That meant something, didn’t it? It had to. People didn’t reach for things they were done with. Not like that. Not like you.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling hard through his nose as he tried to think, tried to decide if this was his moment to fix it or the moment he finally ruined it for good. Because if he called again and you didn’t answer, that would be it. Final. No more almosts. No more chances. Just silence—the kind that didn’t break.
Down the block, you slowed just slightly. Not enough to stop, but enough to feel it—that pull. That invisible thread that still tied you to him, stretching tighter with every step you took away. You hated it. Hated that even now, even after everything, your body still knew where he was, like it could turn around on instinct alone.
Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, nails pressing into your palm as if that would ground you, keep you here, keep you moving forward. “Don’t,” you whispered under your breath, though you didn’t even know who you were saying it to anymore—yourself, him, the past, all of it.
Behind you, he made the decision before he could talk himself out of it, before fear could win. His thumb pressed your name and the call rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Your phone buzzed again.
You felt it. Of course you did. It was like your entire body was wired straight to it. You stopped—actually stopped—right there on the sidewalk, your breath catching as your eyes closed for just a second, the sound filling your ears louder than anything else around you.
This was it. The moment that decided everything.
You could answer. You could turn around. You could go back.
Or you could keep walking.
Your hand moved slowly, deliberately, but not to your pocket. Instead, you let it fall back to your side as you took another step, then another, then another.
The ringing stopped.
Behind you, he lowered the phone slowly, staring at it like it had just confirmed something he didn’t want to understand. Two calls. Both missed. Not by accident. Not by timing. By choice.
His chest rose and fell heavier now, something sharp settling in behind his ribs, because now he knew. You hadn’t just slipped away. You had let go. And this time, you meant it.
Down the block, you didn’t look back. Not even once. Because you knew that if you did, you wouldn’t survive it.
And somewhere deep down, you understood, finally, that walking away wasn’t the hardest part.
warnings: pain and suffering and heartbreak... and more pain :) i'm not very happy with this chapter, it feels kinda boring to me but it is more of a filler chapter just to lead up to the next one (which will be much better lmao)
i've worked out that i could make this a 20 part series with perhaps an epilogue... leading into a mini sequel 🫣 i think i had a request a while back about writing quarantine with hedonist!noah, and it's been on my mind ever since, but i want to get the story finished before i think about writing it!! i just love hedonist!noah too much to ever let him go :(
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Neither of you really slept that night. Noah laid there on his back for hours, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, replaying every second of the night over and over again- the makeup running down your cheeks, the look on your face, the exact moment he saw your heart shatter to pieces, the way you flinched when he reached for you, the way the door slammed shut behind you. The way you said it so certainly, so final. “We’re done.”
Before he knew it, his alarm was going off. He assumed he was to go into work as usual…
He dragged a hand over his face, letting out a long sigh as he sat up on the edge of his bed. His chest ached, it felt heavier than it ever had before, and his eyes were sore from the lack of sleep- or was it from the tears?
His phone sat on his bedside table, and he reached for it to silence his alarm. He then picked it up, checking for any messages… but none of them were from you. So he locked it again and set it back down.
He got up and went by his morning as usual- get in the shower, get dressed, grab keys, leave. But the drive to the shop felt different today, usually you'd be by his side, sat in the passenger seat, or on the phone- speaking to him through his car speakers. But today the drive was silent, though he didn’t notice, because his mind was loud enough to fill the emptiness.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, he felt nervous. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked in- would you be there waiting for him so you could tell him he’s fired, or have you had time to think and realised you want to give him another chance?
He parked up, but sat there in his car for a moment. He hadn’t felt this nervous since his first day, when he found out Steve had a beautiful niece who worked in the office. Now he was nervous because he knew he screwed it all up, and he held on to the tiny bit of hope that now you were sober you’d be thinking differently…
But as he walked through the big door into the workshop, he spotted a box sitting by a stack of tires. He thought nothing of it until he saw his name scribbled across it, written in your handwriting. That’s when his stomach dropped.
He looked towards your office, the door was half open and he could see you inside, sitting at your desk. He swallowed hard before he slowly started to walk, pushing the door open a little more as he stepped in.
As soon as he did, you looked up, and for a moment neither of you said anything.
It was obvious to the both of you that you were feeling the same, that neither of you slept, your eyes were red and swollen, you looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with work- and he knew he didn’t look much better.
He cleared his throat and finally spoke, though his voice was quieter than usual.
“...Morning.”
It felt wrong the moment he said it, because it made it feel like everything was normal, like nothing happened, which you both knew was far from the truth. Still, you held his gaze for a moment longer before you looked away, going back to typing out an email.
“Morning.” You said back, your voice flat and devoid of emotion, which hurt him more than if you were to just ignore him.
Noah stood there awkwardly for a moment, shifting his weight on his feet.
“...That box out there-”
“It’s your stuff,” you cut in, still not looking at him, “From my place. Everything you had there.”
There was no hesitation, no softness in your voice, you were just straight to the point. He clenched his jaw, nodding his head.
“Right…”
Then you were both silent again. You weren’t reading anything, or typing anymore, you were just staring down at your keyboard to avoid looking at him- because you knew you’d crack if you did.
You’ve never seen him like this. Noah was always too confident for his own good, cocky and arrogant sometimes in the beginning, full of himself, annoying- but right now he looked drained, he looked heartbroken, and you hated it.
You hated that you still cared. You hated that you couldn’t hate him.
“I didn’t throw anything away.” You added after a moment, your voice a little softer now but still distant enough to make his heart hurt, “I’m not that kind of person… I figured you’d want it all back.”
Noah swallowed again.
“Yeah… thank you.”
You both paused, Noah lingered there in silence, like he knew you both had so much to say, but you were both afraid...
But you did have things to say, and you knew he had to hear it sooner rather than later, so you straightened up in your chair, like you were bracing yourself, and you forced yourself into business mode. Because this is the only reason you’re both here together now. To work.
“I’ll keep you on for now,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the lump in your throat, “Until I find someone new.”
His brows drew together slightly.
“What?”
You finally looked back up at him and he hated it, there was nothing soft left in your expression at all. There was no warmth, that look of pure love had completely vanished overnight. And to be honest, he couldn’t blame you. This is what he deserved.
“I need a mechanic,” you said simply, “I can’t run the shop on my own.”
“So what, I just stay until you can replace me?” He asked, his chest tightening as he thought about it.
“Yes.” You said, no apology, no hesitation, no putting it nicely. Just the truth.
“...And then what?” He asked.
“Then you’re out. And I never have any reason to speak- or even look- at you again.”
That hit him right where it hurts. He took a slow, deep breath before nodding his head slightly.
“Right.” He said as he exhaled, and then you looked back down at your desk again, like the conversation was done.
At least it was for you, but he didn’t move. There were too many things sitting on his chest, too many words he wanted to say last night-
“You didn’t even let me explain- last night, I mean.”
Your hands paused over your keyboard for a second, before they continued moving again.
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“Yes there is,” he insisted, stepping forward slightly, “You only heard one side of it, you only heard what you wanted to hear and things were probably twisted-”
“Don’t.” You warned, your voice sharp as you looked up at him again. “Don’t make it sound like this is on me, Noah.”
“It is on you, you didn’t even-”
“You said yes.” You cut him off, your voice raising despite how hard you tried to keep calm, “I asked if it was true and you said yes. I can’t be with someone who can… who can do that to me. So this is it. I will not be treated like that.”
He stared at you, feeling his heart shatter more and more.
“So this is it?” He asked, his voice rougher now, “We're over? After everything?”
You let out a weak, humourless laugh as you shook your head.
“That’s the problem, Noah.” You sighed, “I thought it was everything too. It seems you thought otherwise.”
You saw the way his lips pressed together as if to stop them from trembling, and that was almost enough to break you.
“I’ve got things to do,” you said coldly, “If you’re working today then there’s a car booked in at eleven, the brakes need looking at.”
His heart ached at the way you spoke to him, like this was normal, like he was nothing more than an employee. And he stood there for a moment longer, just waiting for something, for anything… but you didn’t look at him again, so eventually he turned and walked out of your office.
And the second the door softly clicked shut behind him was when you broke down. It hit you all at once, and the professional act you had to put on like a mask slipped. Your hand flew up to your mouth as you choked on a sob, tears blurred your vision as they finally spilled over again, too fast to wipe away. Your chest ached so much that it hurt to even breathe.
You’re such an idiot, you thought to yourself as you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head like you could push it all away, like you could undo it all. Like you could go back to yesterday morning, and tell the girls you weren’t feeling well, anything to remain blissfully unaware.
But you couldn’t. Because it happened now, you found out and he even confirmed it.
All along, it had meant nothing.
You weren’t supposed to be like this, you weren’t supposed to let someone else make you feel this way. You weren’t supposed to need anyone. You built your life so you wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else, but then he came along and changed it all… now you couldn’t imagine living the rest of your life without him.
And you hated that you couldn’t shut it off. That you couldn’t stop caring, you couldn’t stop loving him.
You hated that you wanted him to try harder, to walk back through the door and fix it.
…
It was finally time for you to take your lunch break, and you hadn’t spoken to Noah again. Not properly at least, a few customers came in and you had to call his name, but that’s as far as it went.
You managed to distract yourself with work though, invoices and emails and phone calls, but every time you heard a tool drop, every time you saw his shadow, every time he spoke to a customer, your heart ached.
But you closed your laptop, you stood up, grabbed your keys, and walked out of the office. Though, instead of leaving through the front door, you passed straight by him in the garage.
You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t stop or slow down.
“I’m going on lunch,” you said flatly as you walked past, “If the phone rings please answer it.”
“Yeah, of course.” He said. But that was it.
You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else, because then you were out the door, already walking around to the back where your car was parked.
You walked straight up to it, your hands shaking slightly as you fumbled with your keys before finally getting inside.
The second the car door shut, you finally let yourself breathe. Your head fell back against the seat, your eyes squeezing shut as you let out a long, shaky breath.
“Okay…” You whispered to yourself.
You managed to last all morning. You held it together all morning. But now you needed to let it out.
You grabbed your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found Jess. You didn’t even think before pressing the call button, and it only ran twice before she picked up.
“Hey…” Jess answered, her voice immediately concerned. “Are you okay? I didn’t hear from you after you left last night, I don’t know how many times I texted you-“
“It’s true.”
You were met with silence on her end.
“…What?” Jess finally asked, her voice a little quieter now.
“It’s true,” you repeated. “What she said. About Noah.”
Jess went quiet again for a moment.
“What the fuck?” She finally said, completely thrown. “I thought Maya was just- I thought she was making shit up!”
“Me too,” you whispered, swallowing hard. “I thought she was lying, I thought- but I went to his place last night and I asked him and he… he said it’s true.”
A heavy silence followed, then Jess exhaled slowly.
“No…” she whispered. “No, that doesn’t sound right. That doesn’t sound like him.”
“He said it,” you insisted. “I asked if it was true and he said yes!!”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Jess said, more to herself now. “The way he is with you-“
“I know!” You cut in. “I don’t know what’s real anymore, Jess! I don’t know if any of it was ever real!” Your chest ached again, and tears started to blur your vision. “I never wanted to get into something like this and I did it anyway because I thought- I thought he was different-“
“I know,” Jess said softly. “I know…“
“And he even said he loved me,” your voice dropped, quieter now but somehow more broken. “I said it first… but he said it back. I believed it…”
Jess didn’t interrupt you or try to come up with a solution, she was just letting you let it all out. She knew you just needed someone who’d listen.
“And now I don’t even know if that was real.” You whispered. “How can I believe anyone ever again?” Your hand came up to cover your mouth as another sob slipped out.
“…What exactly did you say to him last night?” Jess asked carefully.
“I don’t remember much of it, but I asked him if what Maya said was true,” you replied, your voice shaky. “And he just- he didn’t even hesitate, Jess. He just said yeah. And that he was sorry and it wasn’t meant to happen the way it did and…” you let out a weak and broken laugh, “What am I supposed to think?”
Jess went quiet again.
“…He said it wasn’t meant to happen the way it did?” She repeated slowly.
“Yeah.”
She went quiet again, but for longer this time, like she was thinking.
“Thats weird…”
Your stomach turned.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding a little uncertain. “That just… doesn’t sound like an answer to that question.”
You frowned slightly, confusion slipping through the hurt.
“What?”
“I mean… if you asked him if he only wanted to sleep with you to be your first, why would he say ‘it wasn’t meant to happen the way it did’?” Jess said. “That sounds like he’s talking about something else. Surely if he just wanted to get in your pants, that’s exactly what he wanted to happen., and it worked out just fine.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I’m just… I’m saying maybe there’s been some kind of misunderstanding?”
“No,” you cut in immediately, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see you. “No, Jess, there’s no misunderstanding. He said yes.”
“But you don’t know-“
“He said it,” you repeated firmer, even as your voice trembled. “I heard him. He said it to my face.”
Jess sighed softly.
“Okay… okay,” she said gently. “I’m just saying, maybe don’t shut down on him completely yet. Just… maybe talk to him again when you’re calmer-“
“I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t talk to him or I know what'll happen. I’ll give in. And I don't want him to think I'm just like all the other girls he's been with. I won't let him think I'll just put up with this shit.”
Jess began to speak again, but you weren’t listening… because your phone buzzed as you held it to your ear. You pulled it away slightly, glancing down at the screen.
New message from Aunt Linda❤️
Your stomach dropped instantly.
“Uh… hang on a second.”
You opened the message.
Hi darling, just wanted to let you know they’ve scheduled Steve’s heart surgery for Friday. He’s acting like it’s no big deal, of course… but I thought you should know. I’ll keep you up to date with everything x
You felt your heart sink, your whole body suddenly went ice cold.
“…Oh my god.” You whispered.
“What?” Jess’s voice came through quickly. “What is it?”
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening all over again, but this time it felt different. It was less upsetting, more terrifying.
“It’s Linda,” you said quietly. “She said Steve- he’s going in for surgery... next week.”
Jess inhaled sharply.
“Oh shit…”
Your head fell back against the seat again, your eyes closing as everything hit you at once.
What the fuck did you do to deserve all of this?
“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice breaking all over again. “I actually can’t do this, Jess.”
“You can,” she said softly. “You can. You don’t have to deal with everything alone, or at once, okay? Just deal with one thing at a time-”
“How?” You cried, “How the fuck do I even begin to deal with this?!”
…
Your break felt like it passed in just a couple minutes, rather than an hour. When it was time to go back to work, you didn’t want to move. But you knew you had to.
So you got out of the car and walked towards the building again, walking in through the door into your office, but as you stepped inside you stopped. Because Noah was there, standing by the small counter in the corner, using the coffee machine.
Part of you wanted to turn around and leave… but you didn’t.
You quietly stepped in, wiping at your cheeks, hoping it didn’t look like you spent your break crying in your car. But as the door shut behind you, Noah turned around, and the second his eyes landed on you his face softened.
“…Are you okay?” He asked carefully.
God, you didn’t want to cry in front of him, so you pressed your lips together, sealing them shut as you shook your head.
He picked up his coffee mug with a little frown as he carefully stepped around your desk. All he wanted to do was reach for you, hold you in his arms, kiss you- but he knew he wasn’t allowed to anymore.
“I-” he hesitated, then tried again, quieter. “I got a text from Linda.”
Your eyes lifted up to him for a second.
“She said Steve’s surgery's scheduled,” he said gently, “It’s next week.”
You nodded slowly, feeling your throat burn.
“Yeah,” you managed, your voice small. “She texted me too.”
Silence settled between you, but this time it was different. You both stood there, both holding back from wrapping your arms around each other, both hurting.
He shifted his weight on his feet, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes not leaving your face. He was trying to read you, trying to work out what was going on in your head, because he hated seeing you like this and it was even worse knowing there was nothing he could do to help.
“I know this is a lot,” he said quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of this.”
For fucks sake Noah.
Your hand came up, pressing against your lips like you could physically hold everything in, because you felt it all building up again. It was too much, especially all at once. You felt your chest ache, the lump in your throat was back- and Noah noticed it all.
Without thinking, he took a step forward, but then stopped when he remembered. Instead, he let out a soft sigh.
“I know you hate me right now,” he said softly, “And you have every reason to, but I need you to know I’m here for you. Whether we’re on good or bad terms, whether you want me or not, I will always be here, okay?”
Your eyes squeezed shut for a second, because you did want him. And that was the problem.
But you couldn’t give in, after everything, you wouldn’t let yourself. So you just nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and he understood. Or at least he understood enough, as he didn’t push. He didn’t move closer or force you to say anything or try to fix it.
He just stood there, close enough to be there but still far enough to respect your boundaries.
It made him feel sick knowing the person he loved more than anyone or anything was hurting, and that it was mostly his fault. He hated that you were holding yourself together by threads, that you wouldn’t even look at him properly anymore.
But he didn’t allow himself to be selfish right now, he didn’t let himself make it about him, he just wanted to be there for you through your uncle’s surgery, especially after Steve had told him to look after you.
“If anything happens I need to know she’s in safe hands.”
But now he’s fucked it all up. And he couldn’t fix it.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before slipping his red beanie back on.
“I’ll… be out there.” He said quietly.
But you shook your head.
“Go on your lunch break.” You said as you sat down at your desk, opening your laptop back up again so you didn’t have to look at him.
“But it’s not-”
“It’s fine, Noah. The next customers booked in at 2.”
He nodded his head and took the final sip of his coffee before reaching for his keys and jacket.
“I won’t be long.” He said, not expecting a response.
And with that, he left.
…
During his break, Noah decided to drive to one of the small shops not far from work. It was near the restaurant that Maya worked in, and he made sure to poke his head in to see if she was working today… but she was nowhere to be seen. In a way he was glad, because he wasn’t sure how kind or patient he was feeling today.
So then he headed into the little store, he grabbed a sandwich and a bag of gummy bears before his eyes caught on a pretty bouquet of flowers, like the ones he bought you for Valentines’ Day.
He stared at them for a moment, debating whether he should or not… he didn’t have much money, only the coins that were in his jacket pocket. But he didn’t care. He’d put back the sandwich if he had to.
He picked up the flowers and handed the items over to pay, counting the coins from his pocket- thank god he just had enough.
He knew he couldn’t make up for everything with a cheap bouquet, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface of everything that was wrong, but he didn’t know what else he could do. He couldn’t fix this with words right now, because you didn’t want to listen. But maybe this- something small, a little quiet gesture- would show you that he wanted to fix this. He didn’t want to let you go, and he’d spend the rest of his life apologising if it meant you’d even think about giving him another chance.
By the time he got back to work, his chest still felt heavy, and he wondered whether this was a good idea, or if it’d actually make things worse… anyway, he walked in through the garage door, and peered into your office. He couldn’t see you… good!
He made sure to move quickly,
He stepped inside, glancing around your office- your desk looked just how it did earlier, papers scattered, your pen resting off to the side, your mug of tea half finished… but then he saw that you still had the little picture of him on your desk. The silly one you took when he showed you the polaroid camera he’d bought- he thought it’d be hilarious to take fake mugshots of each other, so his one sat on your desk, and yours was on his desk in his bedroom.
He hesitated for a moment by your desk, he assumed you were in the bathroom right now so you could come out at any moment and see him there, standing by your desk holding a bouquet of flowers.
So he moved quickly. He set them down gently on your desk, his heart aching as his eyes lingered on them for a second before he turned and walked away, leaving your office just as quietly as he came in.
By the time you came back he was back in the workshop. You didn’t even spot the flowers at first, not until you sat down.
They looked like they had been carefully placed, like whoever had left then didn’t want to make a big deal of it.
Your stomach twisted, because you knew exactly who bought them. Nobody else would, no one else had a reason to- nobody else knew those were your favourite flowers.
You tried so hard to force your mind to stay exactly where it was, to not go there, to not let the thoughts creep in. But they did anyway.
If what Maya said was true… then why would he still be trying?
You chewed your lip as you thought, staring at the flowers as your chest started to rise and fall slower, heavier.
It didn’t make sense.
If it had all been some kind of game to him- something shallow and meaningless like she was making it out to be- then what’s this? A quiet gesture with no audience, no way of knowing how you’d react… just flowers on your desk.
Your throat tightened as Jess’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.
“Maybe there’s been some kind of misunderstanding…”
You shook your head quickly, like you could physically push the thought away.
No. You weren’t doing this. You weren’t about to sit here and start doubting everything just because of a bouquet. He probably felt bad- he probably just wants to keep his job. Yeah, that was it… that’s what this is about!
But a part of you wanted to believe otherwise.
With a long sigh, you pushed your chair back just a little so you could get back up. You knew there was a vase tucked in the back of the cupboard- a customer had bought you flowers years ago when he found out it was your birthday, and when Steve told Linda she immediately drove over with a vase so you could put them on your desk- so you moved things around and eventually found it.
You crossed the room with the vase in your hands, washing it out before filling it with water from the sink before reaching for the flowers. You remembered what Linda taught you that afternoon, and you cut the stems at an angle before placing them inside.
You didn’t let yourself think about how he must’ve gone out of his way to get them for you, how you knew he didn't have much money left right now, how he didn’t even make a point to let you know he got them. You just set the vase down on your desk and stepped back.
You looked at them for a moment- they sure were pretty- but then you looked away. Because if you stared at them for too long, you might start thinking again. And you couldn’t do that right now.
You sat back down, pulling the papers toward you again, forcing your attention onto work, numbers, time slots- anything that wasn’t Noah.
And even though you tried, your eyes still drifted back to the flowers every now and then.
…
The rest of the day was painfully slow. Every hour dragged, every minute stretched longer than it should have, at one point you thought today would never end.
You kept your head down the entire afternoon, burying yourself in anything that resembled work, anything that gave you an excuse not to think. But it didn’t matter, because nothing really distracted you.
By the time things started winding down, the sky outside was growing darker and darker, you were still pretending to be busy. But then you heard the sound of the toolbox shutting, and the thud of his work boots on the concrete ground until he stopped just outside the office door.
Then there was a soft knock, making your heart jump.
“Yeah?” You called out, then the door began to open.
Noah quietly stepped inside, like he was trying not to take up too much space. He reached for his jacket and slung it over one arm as he grabbed his keys, like he’d come in for exactly that and nothing more.
But he didn’t leave straight away like you were starting to think he would. His eyes found you first, and then the flowers. You saw the way his expression changed, how he almost looked surprised that you kept them… but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask or point it out. He just looked back over at you.
And then the air between you felt heavier again.
“I just…” He started, then stopped, like he was trying to find the right way to say what he wanted to say.
You stayed still, watching him and waiting, not helping him out.
“Can we please just talk?” He asked finally.
There it was. You’ve been waiting for this for the last hour, you’ve been dreading it. As much as you wanted him to tell you “his side”, you didn’t want to risk it when you knew how easily you’d give in. Even though you had so many questions, even though the whole situation confused you, you let out a soft exhale.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” You said softly, almost apologetic.
You saw the slight change in his posture, the way his jaw tightened just a little, like he was trying not to react too quickly.
“There is.” He said quietly.
You shook your head.
“Noah-”
“Just hear me out,” he cut in, stepping forward slightly. “That’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to do anything. Just let me explain, please.”
Your stomach twisted, because a part of you wanted to say yes, but then again… he said it. Your jaw clenched as you looked up at him again, your expression hardening just slightly.
“You already did.”
His brows pulled together.
“What?”
“You said it was true. There’s nothing more to explain, Noah. I’m not going to go round in circles again.”
Frustration crossed his face as he shook his head.
“But it’s… it’s not what you think. Maya-”
“Then what is it?” You shot back, your voice rising now despite yourself. “Because it sounded pretty clear to me.”
He stepped closer again, more urgent now.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I didn’t need you to,” you replied immediately. “You said enough.”
He stared at you like he didn’t recognise the person in front of him. Like he didn’t understand how things had gotten here when just 48 hours ago your limbs were tangled together, wrapped up in his sheets, holding each other like you were all you needed.
“…Please,” he said again, quieter this time. “Just give me five minutes.”
You swallowed hard as you looked away, because if you kept looking at him like that you might just break. And you couldn’t, not now. Not after you’d stood your ground all day.
“There’s nothing to fix,” you said, softer now, but no less firm. “It’s done, Noah. You can go back to your groupies now, you can tell all the other girls that-”
“I don’t want anyone else.” He said, “I know I’ve fucked up, and I-”
“Fucked up?” You scoffed, “Is that all you think this is. You fucked up, you think an apology and some shitty flowers are gonna fix this?”
Noah didn’t argue this time. You could tell that hurt him, he just stood there for a moment like he was trying to decide whether to keep pushing or finally let go… and finally, he nodded his head once, slipping his arms into his jacket.
“…Right,” he said under his breath. “Okay.”
But just before he could leave, you spoke again, because there was one more thing.
“Can you do me a favour?”
He looked up at you again, a flicker of what looked like hope crossing his face at the fact that you were still talking.
“Yeah…?”
You swallowed, looking up to meet his eyes.
“Can you give me my stuff back?” You asked. “From your place.”
His expression faltered a little.
“What?”
“My things,” you clarified. “Whatever I left at your place?"
He felt his heart get crushed again, because he knew what this meant. This wasn’t just about having your stuff back, it was about closing the door properly. Making sure there wasn’t any reason to speak again once he was replaced at work.
His gaze dropped for a second before lifting back to you.
“Sure.” He said finally, his voice quiet and flat. “I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”
Your chest ached, but you nodded anyway.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t try again or push, he just stood there for one last second, like he was waiting for something… but then he turned and reached for the door. Then he walked out, and you didn’t stop him.
…
By the time you got home, you didn’t want to be alone. Being at home didn’t feel right without him, you had gotten so used to his presence, every room now had memories that you tried so hard to push down, but the whole place just felt different. It’s almost like it didn’t feel like home anymore.
So you finally send an answer to Jess’s text that she sent earlier.
Jess: It’s date night tonight, I’m going out with Sam but we’re stealing you. No arguments x
You: Sorry it’s been a long day, I’ll explain whilst we’re out
Jess: So you’re coming with us? :)
You: Well you said no arguments…
Jess: YAY!!
You didn’t have the energy to look put together, and you didn’t feel like you had a reason to either. You just changed into a nicer outfit than you were wearing, and got in the car when you spotted Sam pulling up to your place.
The bar wasn’t too busy, which you were glad about. There were a few groups of people scattered around, but Jess quickly rushed over to an empty booth, and Sam slid in beside her. You took the seat across from them, pulling your jacket off slowly as you glanced around.
“This is nice.” You said.
Jess smiled softly.
“Thought you’d like it.”
Sam nodded, giving you a small, reassuring smile.
“Perfect place to drown your sorrows, huh?”
You huffed out a quiet laugh.
“We’ll see… I’m gonna go up and get drinks, what do you guys want?”
“Just a non-alcoholic beer, please. Someone’s gotta be the designated driver.” Sam smiled, already reaching into his pocket.
“Do you really need to ask me?” Jess chuckled when you looked at her.
“Rum and coke?” You raised an eyebrow, and she nodded her head with a little grin.
“Here,” Sam said as you were about to get up, “First rounds on me.”
You looked down at his hand, and he was holding out his card. Your heart did a stupid flip, that’s the kinda thing Noah would’ve done...
“Thanks.” You said a little quieter as you took the card from him and made your way up to the bar.
You ordered your drinks, paid, then took them back to the table, gently placing them all down.
You sat back down with a sigh, then for a moment the three of you were just quiet. It wasn’t awkward… if anything, it was just careful, you could tell neither of them wanted to say the wrong thing.
But then Jess leaned her elbow on the table, her chin resting in her hand as she studied you for a moment before she spoke.
“So,” she said gently, her voice soft. “How was your day?”
You let out a small breath through your nose, your gaze dropping to the table as you thought.
“It was…” you paused, trying to find the right word, but nothing quite fit. “Long.” That was good enough.
“Yeah?” Jess’s eyes softened.
You shrugged slightly, tiredly.
“I tried to just… get through it, you know? Focus on work. Pretend everything’s normal.” Your lips pressed together gently. “…But it’s not.”
“Did you have to see him?” Sam asked.
Your stomach flipped.
“Of course she had to see him, Sam, they work together!” Jess scoffed.
“Not for much longer.” You said quietly, catching their attention.
“...What?” Jess asked.
“I made some calls, sent some messages and… I’m interviewing someone tomorrow.”
“But you don’t work on Sundays?” Jess’s eyebrows drew together, but you shook your head.
“I know, but I don’t care. The sooner he’s out the better.”
But Sam frowned slightly.
“You really mean that?”
Your eyes darted up to him.
“What?”
“You seriously don’t want to talk to him first? Properly? You’re just getting rid of him before he even has the chance to explain himself?”
Your heart hurt, and you looked back down at the table, your jaw clenching as you tried to hold onto the certainty you’d had earlier… the anger, the clarity, the finality of it.
“I have to.” You said, before lifting your head again.
“Have to… or you want to?” Jess asked, reaching over the table to take your hand in hers.
That hit deeper than you expected. Did you really want to?
“I don’t-” you shook your head, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know. But I can’t go back on it now. I can’t just let him explain and then... what? Change my mind? After everything he said? Make up and act like nothing ever happened? Pretend like he didn't just want to get in my pants?”
Sam watched you quietly for a moment, wondering whether saying these words were a bad idea or not… either way, he still said them.
“I can’t believe it’s true.”
Jess’s head snapped toward him immediately.
“Sam!”
But he didn’t look at her, he was looking at you.
“I’ve only met him once,” he continued. “That Halloween party at my place, remember? He came with you, and nobody knew it was his birthday.”
You blinked, your brows pulling together slightly as you tried to follow, though the memories were already making you feel sick.
“…Yeah. I remember.”
He nodded.
“And even then,” he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table as his fingers wrapped around his bottle, “I remember thinking that this guy’s completely gone for you. Jess had to keep reminding me that you two weren’t a couple.”
Your breath caught, and Jess suddenly went quiet beside you. Sam shrugged like it was nothing, but there was nothing casual about what he was saying.
“I mean it,” he added. “The way he looked at you, the way he hovered around you the entire night, the way he paid attention to everything you said…” He shook his head slightly. “That’s not a guy who’s just trying to get into your pants. Trust me- I’m a guy.”
Your heart suddenly ached with every beat in your chest, and your vision began to blur from the tears in your eyes.
“But… I don't get it if he said it was true.” You whispered.
“I know,” Sam said gently. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying… it doesn’t line up with what I saw. What we all saw.”
That was it. That was all it took.
Because you’d been holding it in all day, forcing yourself to stay strong, to stay angry, to stay certain. But you wouldn’t last much longer.
“Oh my god-” you choked out, your hand coming up to your face as your shoulders started to shake.
Jess climbed over Sam, and was beside you instantly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay-”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I don’t know if I’m being stupid or if I’m just ignoring something obvious or-”
Jess pulled you into her side again, her arms wrapping around you tightly.
“You’re not stupid,” she said firmly, her hand cradling the back of your head. “You’re just hurting. You're dealing with so much right now... I wish I knew how to help you better.”
…
Noah’s house didn’t feel like home to him anymore.
It felt like something was missing. It felt colder than it ever had. It felt lonely.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands pressed hard against his face. The room was quiet- no music playing, no background noise, nothing to distract him from the way his thoughts kept circling and looping and haunting him.
He almost felt sick. Like something was sitting there in his chest, lodged deep, refusing to move no matter how hard he tried to breathe through it.
He dragged his hands down slowly, his palms rubbing over his face before falling uselessly into his lap. He looked to his side, he had opened the overnight bag you kept at his place, the one you used to bring your things over in all those weeks- possibly months- ago. Then he looked around his room, and god it was almost like you had moved in.
You were everywhere.
Hair ties and random jewellery on his bedside table, your jacket draped over the back of his chair, the pile of dirty clothes on the floor that he said he’d wash for you the morning of the day this all kicked off.
He stared at everything for a moment, almost afraid to move. But he knew he had to. He told you he would give you your things back.
He pushed himself up slowly, then he began. He reached for the nearest thing, which happened to be the hair tie. It was such a small thing. Insignificant, really. Something you probably didn’t even think twice about leaving behind.
But he picked it up carefully, turning it between his fingers.
He remembered you standing in front of the mirror, tying your hair up absentmindedly while talking to him about something- he couldn’t even remember what anymore. Something normal. Something that didn’t hurt.
He swallowed hard as he placed it into the bag before forcing himself to move again.
The jacket came next. He hesitated before picking it up because it still smelled like you. It was very faint, but it was there. His grip tightened around the fabric as he brought it closer for just a second, his eyes closing briefly before he caught himself.
“Don’t.” He whispered, like he was telling himself off. Like he didn’t deserve that.
He exhaled shakily and folded it instead, more carefully than he needed to, before placing it into the bag.
Piece by piece, item by item, he moved through the bedroom packing your things. Your charger, your pajama top, the little bottle of conditioner you’d left in his bathroom because you refused to use his 5-in-1.
He let out a quiet, broken huff of a laugh at that, his smile turning into a frown as he tried not to cry again, because it hurt. Because there was no one there to laugh with him. No one to roll their eyes, to call him an idiot. It was just quiet… and he hated it.
…
The next morning, the sky was grey and the rain was pouring, tapping against the windshield of Noah’s car, blurring the view of your street.
Your bag was sitting on the passenger seat, and he glanced over at it, then back at your house. The lights were all off, and your car wasn’t there… he guessed you weren’t in. He swallowed as he reached for his phone, hesitating for a moment on your contact before he pressed call.
However, the call didn’t even go through. It rang once, then cut off.
He frowned slightly as he pulled the phone away to check the screen, like maybe he’d accidentally done something. But he hadn’t, because he tried again… and the same thing happened.
He felt his chest tighten as he realised what this meant. He wasn’t angry, and he certainly wasn’t surprised. It just hit him for some reason.
You’d blocked him.
He let out a soft breath through his nose, his head tipping back against the seat for a moment as the rain started to fall harder, the sound of it growing louder.
Then he moved, he reached over to grab your bag before pushing open the car door and stepping out into the rain. He couldn’t believe how quick it soaked through his hoodie in the short walk up to your front door.
He knocked once… then again… but there was still no answer. He waited for a moment, he glanced at the windows, but he couldn’t see any movement. Clearly you weren’t in.
He couldn’t leave your bag out in the rain, he couldn’t let your things get soaked- but then he remembered. He still had your house key.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and slowly pulled it out, it was attached to his house key and the spare he had for Folio’s from when his parents would let the band practice in their basement. He stared at your key for a moment, realising this was the last thing, the last piece of you he still had, aside from-
He swallowed, cutting that thought off before it could go any further.
He stepped forward again and slid the key into the lock, twisting it, then he hesitated for a moment before pushing it open. But when he did, the warmth hit him. Then the silence followed.
Your house had never been so quiet.
He slowly stepped inside, careful not to drip everywhere as he closed the door behind him gently. Your home still smelled the same. It still smelled like you. It still made his heart flutter in a way he shouldn’t let it anymore.
Just put the bag down, hang the key up, and leave. He told himself… but he couldn’t help but linger in the hallway, just standing there for a moment, wondering if this was the last time he’d ever step foot in your house.
He could still remember the first time he came over, the night he picked you up when you were out with your friends, when you were drunk and wanted to go home but didn’t want to leave alone. He could still remember walking through the door, taking it all in for the first time, and getting lost on the way to your bathroom.
He crouched slightly by the kitchen door, setting the bag down gently by the wall, making sure it wouldn’t tip over. Then he straightened back up, but he didn’t leave straight away.
He just looked around the house. Nothing was different, but everything felt different. Maybe it was because you weren’t here? Maybe it was because he wasn’t supposed to be here?
His gaze landed on the kitchen counter, and he slowly stepped over to it without really thinking. He then reached into his pocket, pulling the key out again, taking it off the keyring.
He looked at it for a long moment, turning it in his fingers, remembering the way you handed it to him one day, so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.
“In case you ever need it.”
He swallowed hard before gently setting it down on the counter, taking one last look around at everything…
And the memories suddenly came back all at once. You leaning against the counter as you watched him cook, making fun of something he said, or playfully arguing with him over something. The way you giggled between kisses when he was trying to shut you up, his hands on your hips as he pressed you against the counter. The way you looked at him with hearts in your eyes without even realising it... he never thought it'd come to this.
But this was it. There wasn’t anything left to hold onto now. You didn’t want him here. Didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to know him anymore.
So he turned around and walked back over to the door, and reached for the handle to pull it open slowly…
The rain was still falling as he stepped out, but he didn’t care any more. He pulled your door shut behind him and didn’t look back.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
this is actually half of what the original chapter was as i decided to split it in two, it made sense so there wasn't soo much going on, i feel like it paces the story a little better :) however, that does mean that the next chapter is already written, and it's a very intense one 🫣
Tropes and tags: hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, PinV, public adjacent sex, rough sex, minor cnc dynamics, multiple POV, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, aggressive hockey players, possessive male, protective male.
AN: Please bear with me, my writing isn't as efficient as I want it to be as of late. I've had some serious mental blockage and it's been a struggle. I tried to be as fun and as in depth as possible as most of my writing is. Either way I hope you enjoy it.
The glow of my television flickering across the walls as the late-night recap from tonight’s game played on repeat. The commentators’ voices blended into the background, a steady hum beneath the highlights and roaring crowd. It should have felt exciting—another win, another moment worth celebrating—but from here it all felt strangely distant.
The team had played two back-to-back games this week. I was supposed to be there for the first one, boarding the plane with everyone else, buzzing with that familiar pre-game energy. Instead, the morning of the flight I’d woken up with a stomach bug so brutal it knocked the wind out of me. Within hours I was stuck in my room, curtains drawn, the world outside continuing without me.
Most of the past few days had blurred together in a haze of sleep and half-hearted attempts at watching whatever was on TV. The only thing that really broke up the monotony was texting Noah.
My phone would buzz every so often on the nightstand—his name lighting up the screen. He was riding the high from that first game’s win, fired up in the way only he could be. His messages came through fast, full of energy and adrenaline, like he was still standing under the stadium lights.
Normally I would have matched it, teased him, fanned the flames a little just to see where his excitement would go. But feeling the way I did—tired, hollow, my stomach still turning—I couldn’t quite keep up with him. My replies were softer, slower. I didn’t lean into the energy the way I usually would.
He’d been late to call tonight, but he called. We made small talk about the game and the interviews—nothing out of the ordinary. But on the first day I wasn’t feeling sick, I realized just how much I’d missed him, how much I really needed him. He noticed my behavior immediately.
“Different?” I echoed, shifting against the pillows, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet in the room.
A pause stretched on the other end of the line. Faint noises drifted behind him—voices, maybe a hallway door closing—but it felt like his attention was locked entirely on me.
“Yeah,” Noah said slowly. “Quieter than usual. Like you’re thinking too hard.”
I let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Maybe I am.”
“You watching the recap?” My eyes flicked to the screen just as a clip replayed of him breaking past a defender, the crowd surging to its feet.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he repeated, amused. “You always say that when the answer’s yes.”
I didn’t deny it. Another highlight flashed—him scoring, teammates piling into him. But the camera cut away too quickly, before it could catch the look I knew would have followed.
“I missed it,” I admitted quietly.
“Missed what?”
“Seeing you after.” I hesitated, then added, softer, “You always look… different when you win.”
Silence hummed through the phone for a second. When Noah spoke again, his voice had dropped half a register. “Different how?”
My fingers curled into the loose folds of the sheets, grounding myself in something real. “You know how.”
“Say it.”
“You get this look,” My words coming out slower, letting them linger.
“What look?”
“Hungry.” The word stretched between us, heavy and deliberate. Noah didn’t answer right away.
“I wish you’d been there.” Something in the way he said it—more raw, more real—sent a shiver down my spine.
“Me too,” I admitted. Another quiet beat passed.
“I miss our after-game ritual,” I said before I could stop myself.
The words slipped out softer than I intended, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.
On the other end of the phone, Noah went very still.
“…Do you now?” he said slowly.
My eyes stayed on the screen, but the highlights had blurred into the background. I wasn’t really watching anymore—just remembering.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I do.”
He let out a quiet breath. “That’s dangerous to say to me right after a win.”
“It’s not like we ever planned them,” I went on, my voice drifting into memory. “They just… happened.” A small laugh escaped me. “In the most ridiculous places.”
Noah huffed softly. “The equipment room,” he said.
“Once.”
“Twice,” he corrected.
“And the stairwell,” I added.
“That one was your fault.”
“My fault?” I scoffed quietly. “You were the one who dragged me in there.”
“You weren’t complaining.” I smiled despite myself.
I shifted against the pillows, pressing my fingers lightly into the mattress. Even after signing the nondisclosure agreements and sitting through HR and legal interviews, we still hadn’t found the right moment to tell my dad about our relationship; hence all the sneaking around. But now, with the gloves off—pun intended—Noah’s streak was making it harder and harder to stay quiet.
“You get… intense.” Noah gave a low hum of agreement.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That sounds about right.”
“And stubborn,” I added. “Once you get your hands on me after a game like that, you don’t really stop.”
He laughed under his breath. “You say that like you hate it.”
“I don’t,” I said quickly.
Warmth spread through my chest as I went on. “But you get rough sometimes,” I admitted. “Not bad rough. Just… unstoppable.”
My voice softened, the words slowing. “Like you’re still chasing the win.”
Silence stretched on the line.
“When the game’s good,” I added quietly, “I usually end up feeling it the next day.” Noah let out a slow breath through his nose.
“You’re really going to sit there in that room, on the other side of the country,” he said, his voice low, threaded with restrained amusement, “and start reminiscing about that while I’m still running on post-game adrenaline?”
“Well, it’s not like there’s anything that can be done right now,” I said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
A quiet scoff crackled through the phone.
“Who the hell says that?” Noah shot back.
My mouth went dry instantly. No. He couldn’t possibly be thinking—
For a moment I just sat there, staring at the dim lamp on the bedside table.
“What’s that quiet for?” he added after a moment.
“I’m thinking.” I tried swallowing the big lump in my throat.
“Dangerous,” he murmured. “Usually that means you’re about to say something that gets me in
trouble.”
“Pretty sure you handle that all on your own.”
The chuckle that followed slipped out like a slow exhale—light on the surface, but strained underneath. I wasn’t forcing it exactly… but I was nervous enough that it almost felt like I was.
“Maybe,” he said. “But right now? You’re the one hesitating.”
My fingers tightened around my phone. “I’m not hesitating.”
“No?” There was a pause—intentional. Controlled. “Then why do I feel like I’ve got you on the back foot?”
My breath caught, just slightly.
He noticed.
“Yeah,” he said, softer now, almost satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”
I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re very confident all of a sudden.”
“It’s not sudden,” he replied. “You just gave me an opening.”
“A power play?” I teased, trying to regain ground.
He chuckled, low and warm. “Exactly. And I don’t waste those.”
I couldn’t really believe I was even considering it, but I missed him—more than I wanted to admit. Not just his voice, but everything about him. The ease, the pull, the way he made space feel different just by being in it. In a way I hadn’t fully understood until now, I felt starved for him.
“What do I do?” I asked quietly.
On the other end of the line, he didn’t hesitate.
“Well,” Noah said, easy, almost teasing, “first thing would be to stop overthinking it.”
I rolled my eyes immediately, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Really, Noah?”
A quiet laugh rumbled through the phone.
“It’s not exactly easy to do with them on, babe.”
I huffed a soft breath, shaking my head, but the corner of my mouth lifted anyway.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Mm,” he replied, completely unbothered. “And yet you’re still standing there thinking about it instead of hanging up.”
My fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt, nerves fluttering in my chest.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But right now I’m mostly enjoying the mental picture of you stalling.”
“I’m not stalling.”
“Then prove it.”
The challenge in his voice sent another little rush of heat through me.
I hesitated only a moment longer before tugging the shirt up and over my head, tossing it onto the chair nearby.
“There,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed. “Happy?”
Noah let out a slow breath on the other end of the line.
“Getting there.”
I glanced around the empty hotel room on instinct, even though I knew I was alone. The curtains were drawn, the only light coming from the TV replaying the same winning moment again and again.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, but my fingers had already found the waistband of my shorts.
“Maybe,” he replied easily. “But you didn’t stop.”
I slid the shorts down and stepped out of them, nudging them aside with my foot before sitting back on the edge of the bed. My heart was beating faster now, a mixture of nerves and the strange thrill of being listened to so closely.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Okay what?” he asked.
“I did it.”
“Did what?” he pressed, clearly enjoying himself.
I groaned softly. “You know what.”
“I might,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile despite the heat creeping up my neck.
“I took them off,” I admitted.
There was a brief pause before Noah let out a slow breath.
“Good,” he murmured.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Now,” he said, “you stop rushing.”
“I’m not rushing.”
“You are,” he replied. “Your voice does this thing when you get nervous.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Gets a little faster. Little breathier.”
I rolled my eyes again, even though my pulse jumped at how easily he seemed to read me.
“Maybe I’m just cold,” I said.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”
I threw myself onto the bed with a heavy sigh. This was already off to an awkward start.
“Let’s start slow,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Follow my lead.” I heard him shift on the other end of the line. “Your neck—fingers on your neck, light touch.”
I exhaled, doing as he said, letting my fingers trace slowly up and down over the quickening pulse beneath my skin. Goosebumps prickled along my arms, a shiver following in their wake.
“Other hand down your side—slow, follow every curve for me.”
I sucked in a sharp breath as my hand reached my hip, his voice tightening something deep in my chest.
“Now, the hand at your neck—grab harder.”
I did as he asked, my fingers tightening, and suddenly it was easier to pretend it was him—his touch, his presence. My body reacted like he was right there beside me, like I could almost feel the heat of him, the familiar pull that always unraveled me.
My thoughts blurred, senses filling in the gaps—his cologne, the warmth of his breath, the way he always seemed just a step too close. The tension coiled tighter, leaving me restless, wanting more, wanting him, the distance between us suddenly unbearable
“Fuck, you taste so good baby,” It was like he could read my mind—only my mind wasn’t mine anymore, slipping under the weight of his voice. I shouldn’t have been this affected, shouldn’t have been unraveling this quickly. And yet, every word, every pause, every quiet command sent another spark through me. “Those soft, lips, fuck when they’re open…” His voice started to trail, just enough for me to catch the shift in it. I knew what he wanted—and I wanted it too.
“Imagine me sliding to the floor,” I said, taking the lead as I pushed myself upright on the bed. “On my knees… eyes on you.”
I heard his breath hitch on the other end, and something in me sparked at the sound. It felt different, saying it out loud—guiding him instead of just following. A quiet rush of control settled in, heady and unfamiliar.
I could picture him, the tension in his shoulders, the restraint in the way he held himself together. The thought made me bite my lip, a slow smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as the moment stretched between us.
“Fuck,” he groaned “Open for me, please,”
I walked him through every detail, slow and deliberate, my voice a steady rhythm he couldn’t ignore. I could hear him responding in little hitching breaths, and it made my chest tighten knowing I could move him without even being there. I could almost remember the taste of him, the way my senses sparked to life at the thought, my body tingling in memory, uncontainable and electric.
His breath stuttered through the line, and whatever he’d been about to say dissolved into silence.
“Jesus…” he muttered, voice low and unsteady now.
I bit my lip, suddenly hyperaware of his reaction—of the control I hadn’t even realized I had until now. The thought of his tattooed fingers moving over himself while I guided him through every filthy detail sent a rush through me, a new kind of high.
“Noah… please tell me you’re—” I trailed off, the words unnecessary. It was obvious.
“I am,” he groaned, and my legs trembled at the sound.
“Fuck I want to taste you,”The growl in his voice was possessive, and I sank back into my pillows, suddenly seeing his face in my mind—the way his eyes lifted to meet mine through those lashes I envied. I could hear the ragged rhythm of his breathing, imagine the heat radiating off him after the game, the way he always carried that dangerous edge. My mind painted a perfect picture of how he looked, his mouth slightly open, his hair matted with sweat, that oh-so-dangerous way he’d lick his lips just before…
“Oh god,” I breathed into the room, my back arching slightly at the memory.
“You’re going to need your fingers, baby. Just for now.” He guided me, and my hands followed his directions, sliding down my thighs. It wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be, but he was teasing me, and I loved it. I let my fingers trail with every instruction he gave, following him completely, caught in the rhythm of his voice.
My fingers tracing up my inner thigh had my breath coming in short gasps, half need, half frustration.
“That’s it… just a little higher,” Noah’s voice soothed me over the line.
I reached the midpoint, and without needing any further instruction, I began to move in slow, deliberate circles. Barely touching at first, then reversing as he guided me, pressing just a little more, then easing back—pulling almost completely away before letting the pressure build again. I followed his directions to the letter, caught in the rhythm he set, every shift of his voice sending sparks through me.
I was lost in the feeling, my head falling back as the phone slipped from my ear, nearly hitting the floor. I grabbed it, flipped on the speaker, and rested it against my chest, letting his voice guide me again as the pressure continued building.
“That’s it… just like that,” he murmured, low and steady. “Keep following me. Don’t rush.”
“I’m trying,” I breathed, my fingers moving exactly as he said, caught in the rhythm of his instructions.
“Good… yes, just like that. Don’t stop now,” he encouraged, each word tugging me further into the heat of the moment.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Focus on me, on my voice.”
I did, letting the sound of him fill my head, guiding my hands as I moved exactly where he told me. Each pause he left, each small adjustment, sent shivers rippling through me.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, almost a growl now. “Don’t stop… don’t even think about stopping.”
I shivered at the tone, my chest tightening, my breath catching with every word. “I… I’m trying to keep up,” I admitted, voice shaky.
“Just like that,” he said, approvingly, each syllable dragging out, slow and deliberate. “Feel it. Let yourself feel it. Don’t hold back on me.”
I could hear the strain in his voice now, the subtle hitching breaths that made my heart pound. Every instruction, every pause, every soft murmur of encouragement had me unraveling, completely focused on him.
“Good… yes,” he said, voice roughening. “That’s it… exactly like that.”
I leaned back further into the pillows, my mind was dizzy, lost in the heat of his voice, the rhythm he set, the way he seemed to reach across the miles and pull every shiver from me.
Every word, every pause, every subtle change in his tone pulled me deeper into the moment, closer than I thought possible without him being here.
“Don’t think. Just follow,” he said, voice low, steady, like a tether pulling me along. “Let it take over.”
I shivered, breath coming faster now, caught entirely in the rhythm he set. “I… I can’t believe how good this feels,” I admitted, my voice shaky, almost a whisper.
“That’s exactly it,” he murmured. “Feel it. Every bit. Let yourself go.”
I closed my eyes completely, letting the memory of him flood me—his heat, his wild energy after the game, the dangerous tilt of his lips, the fire in his eyes—and paired it with the sound of his voice guiding me. Everything came to a head, my legs trembling as I called out his name, my voice barely more than a whisper and yet somehow carrying all the tension, longing, and release I felt.
“Such a good girl,” he cooed, his tone low and possessive, making it clear we weren’t done yet. What else could there possibly be?
“Baby, you’re going to need a little more. Get in your drawer,” he commanded.
My eyes flicked to the drawer by the bed where I kept the toys. They weren’t really useful—I’d only ever used them once or twice—but they had been free at some party years ago, so I thought, why not? I pulled out the lifesize piece, staring at it like it belonged to someone else, strange and new all over again.
I held it in my hands, turning it over like it was some foreign object, my chest tightening at the memory of his voice guiding me.
“Yeah… that’s it,” he murmured, low and deliberate. “Now… just hold it, let your hands do what I tell you. Follow me.”
I swallowed, my fingers trembling slightly as I obeyed. Even though it had been sitting in my drawer for years, in that moment it felt electric, like it had been waiting for him to notice.
I didn’t need instructions on where to put it—it was just a matter of figuring out how to maneuver it without feeling awkward.
“Right there,” he said, his voice low and steady.
I gasped, the memory of the familiar stretch sending a shiver through me.
“Just like that,” he murmured,
“Good… exactly,” he praised, voice rougher now, almost a growl. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow me. Keep going.”
I did, letting his words set the pace, letting my imagination fill in the spaces, feeling every tiny pull of control he had over me. My breath came faster, catching at the rhythm we’d built together over the line, each pause and instruction sending another shiver through me.
“That’s perfect,” he said, voice low and strained. “I love the way you follow me. Don’t stop… not yet.”
I bit my lip, a small laugh escaping me despite the tension. “You really know how to make me obey,” I admitted, chest tightening, heat pooling in a way I couldn’t name.
“Damn right,” he whispered, almost ragged now. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”
Even from miles away, with only his voice to guide me, I felt him—his presence, his control, the teasing edge that always made my pulse spike. My fingers moved on instinct, my body responding to the memory and the rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between us didn’t exist at all.
His voice dropped lower, rough and urgent, threading through the line like electricity. “That’s it… don’t stop now. Focus on me, on my voice.”
I shivered, leaning back into the pillows, my breath coming faster, heart hammering. Every word he said seemed to skip straight to my chest, pulling at something I couldn’t control. “I… I’m trying,” I whispered, voice trembling.
“Good,” he growled, low and sharp. “Feel it—own it. Don’t hold anything back for me.”
My hands moved automatically, but it wasn’t just the motions—it was the anticipation, the mental push-and-pull between us, the way he guided me and yet left enough unsaid to make my mind race. Every pause, every gentle command, stretched the tension higher and higher.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, voice tight, strained. “God… I wish I could be there right now.”
“I know,” I breathed, chest tightening, legs trembling, caught in the rhythm of him even from miles away. “Me too…”
“Just… let go,” he said, slower now, deliberate. “Trust me. Trust yourself.”
I closed my eyes completely, gripping the sheets, heart pounding, every nerve alive. His voice wrapped around me like a tether, guiding me, teasing me, pulling me closer to the edge even without him being here. The intensity built, so sharp it felt like it could tear me apart, and still it wasn’t over.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” he murmured, every word shaking with control and desire.
I gasped, shivering through every fiber of my body, lost entirely to the heat of him, the rhythm he set, the distance that somehow made everything feel impossibly close.
And then, finally, the tension broke with the force of every nerve, every thought, every ounce of want snapping into release, leaving me shaking, breathless, and entirely spent, still wrapped in the echo of him.
I thought he might’ve dropped the phone, his groan fading into silence. The realization made me bite back a small laugh, a quiet giggle slipping out despite myself.
There was a moment of heavy breathing, a pause that stretched just long enough to make me wonder, followed by the faint sound of movement. Then more rustling until finally, he came back on the line.
“You still there?” he asked, his voice a little breathless—like he was trying way too hard to sound normal.
I pressed my lips together, failing to hide a smile. “Wow. That’s how you answer the phone now?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I had to… regroup.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Noah's POV
Her breathing is still on the line. Soft. Uneven at first, then slower. We’ve been like this for a while, just sitting in silence. I stay still, phone pressed to my ear, staring at nothing in the hotel room.
“You still there?” I ask quietly.
Only her breathing answers me.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. She’s not gone. Just… drifting. Like she’s close to sleep and doesn’t even realize it yet.
“Hey,” I murmur, softer now. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”
There’s the faintest shift on the line—so small I almost think I imagined it. But her breathing changes just slightly, like she heard me even if she’s too tired to respond.
That pulls something warm and uneasy through my chest at the same time.
I lean back against the wall, thumb tracing the edge of my phone. The tension from earlier is still there, but it’s dulled now, softened into something quieter. Something I don’t have a name for.
Like we’ve crossed into a different part of the night without meaning to.
And then—
A knock hits my hotel room door.
“Noah,” a voice calls. “You in there?”
I straighten a little. “Yeah?” I answer, still not moving the phone away. I’m trying desperately to get my sweatpants fully on, hopping slightly as I fight with the fabric like it’s personally offended me.
“Coach wants to see you.”
I pause mid-step, nearly tripping over my own foot. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
I’m already reaching for a shirt, shrugging it halfway on while I walk toward the door so I don’t have to yell across the room and wake her on the phone.
“What about?” I ask, lowering my voice as I get closer.
There’s a beat of silence on the other side, like the guy delivering the message suddenly realizes he’s about to drop something he shouldn’t be involved in.
“Something about whatever is going on between you and his daughter.”
The words hit clean.
I stop moving.
For a second, I actually forget I’m mid-shirt, one arm stuck awkwardly in the sleeve like an idiot.
“…What?” I say again, quieter this time.
And on the other end of the call, she’s still there.
Breathing softly.
Half-asleep.
Completely unaware that my entire night just shifted under my feet.
summary: the princess sneaks out from the palace to watch her favorite samurai training
Author's note: guess who's back, back again *eminem continues playing* lol hi hello our beloved samurai is back 🥹 I hope you enjoy this little angsty piece. It takes place way before the events from The Unmaking of a Warrior. For all of you that love samurai!noah and haven't stopped thinking about him since I finished the main fic, there's a little surprise at the end ☺️ 💖
Trigger warnings: none, just samurai training and angst
Sneaking out had never been easy.
Within the inner quarters of the castle, every corridor and every floorboard seemed to remember the weight of passing feet. Servants moved about constantly, and guards stood posted beyond the sliding doors.
Sneaking out during training hours was worse.
The samurai drilled at dusk, when the sky dimmed to indigo and the air cooled enough for steel to move without slipping in the hand. At that same hour, I was expected in the west wing, beneath the stern gaze of my instructors.
Because a daughter of the Shogun was not raised in idleness.
I was taught calligraphy until I could no longer feel my fingers. Poetry followed, then court etiquette, the art of stillness, the discipline of silence. Then came training with the naginata. There were lessons with the kaiken dagger too, meant for a final defense should all else fail. And then archery.
My father had not neglected strength, but the time spent on those disciplines could not compare to the endless hours devoted to shaping me, forcefully, into the perfect lady.
The worst of all was composure.
It was during that absurd lesson, on that very day, that I decided to disappear.
The lady assigned to train me, along with the other girls, believed stillness was obedience. She would set me to kneel in seiza for long stretches, correcting the angle of my back, the placement of my hands, and the rhythm of my breath.
“A lady must be as unmoving as a painted screen,” she would say, pacing behind me.
She never imagined I would use her lessons to my advantage.
I spent half the day in my room, pretending to be ill, stricken by some vague sickness that left me too weak to move or speak.
My mother came to see me, the instructor trailing behind her. It was clear they wanted to know whether I could attend training, but I shook my head weakly, gave them my most sorrowful expression, and asked to be left alone. I said I wished to sleep.
Reluctantly, they left.
I waited, unmoving, for their footsteps to fade. Then I waited a little longer, my gaze fixed on the window that opened onto my balcony.
After a few more minutes, I slipped out of bed, put on my sandals, and quietly slid the balcony doors open. I stepped out of the bed, put on my sandals, and quietly slid the balcony doors open. I stepped into the evening and followed the same route I had carved out over the previous months; an escape from the main palace, beginning in my very own room.
I moved quickly, slipping into hiding at familiar points, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, until I finally heard distant voices and the subtle shift of armor.
The training grounds.
The sounds reached me before the sight did: the clash of bokken, the low calls of instruction, the rhythmic thud of footwork against packed earth.
One of my greatest indulgences had become watching him train, sword in hand, hakama swaying with each movement.
I pressed myself into the shadow where a wall met a line of support pillars. From there, I remained half-hidden, just beyond the reach of the lantern light, where the darkness softened the edges of my form. Anyone glancing this way would see nothing at all.
I had learned where to stand.
The training yard stretched wide beneath the open sky, lanterns casting golden pools across the ground. Sand shifted under precise footwork, bokken cracked against one another, and voices rose in commands. The scent of dust and oiled wood was heavy.
Figures moved. Young and older men sparring in pairs, other practicing their forms. But my gaze zeroed in one specific samurai.
Noah stood at the center of the yard, facing three opponents at once. Not novices, because my father did not waste his finest swordsman on easy drills.
He moved like water and steel combined. A strike deflected. A pivot. Another opponent disarmed with almost no effort. Even the senior retainers watched him with something close to approval… or perhaps it was caution.
I should not have been there. Every lesson drilled into me since childhood warned against it. A princess did not hide in shadows to watch warriors. A daughter of the shogun did not risk scandal for a man who served her father.
But I could not look away, because beneath the lantern lights, he was not just a samurai; he was the only thing I had ever truly chosen for myself.
The combat was over in moments.
A murmur passed through the crowd. Even at a distance, I could feel the quiet acknowledgment of skill that bordered on reverence.
But Noah was not the kind to bask in it. He reset his stance and prepared for the next exchange. Another round began. The strikes became sharper, less forgiving, drawing every eye in the ward.
I leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough to catch the turn of his wrist, the narrowing of his eyes as he anticipated the next attack.
And that was when it happened.
Mid-motion, mid-strike. His bokken caught another’s and held, wood grinding against wood. His dark eyes shifted.
The distance between us should have hidden me. The shadows should have concealed me. Every careful step I had taken, every measured breath, had been meant to ensure I remained unseen, even from him.
But he saw me.
There was no surprise in his gaze, no confusion or uncertainty. His eyes landed exactly where I stood, as though he had known all along.
He broke the lock of the weapons in the same instant, turning the motion into a clean counter that forced his opponent back. The fight continued, uninterrupted.
An in that moment, while the yard rang with the sound of clashing weapons, I understood that there was no place I could stand where he would not find me.
I should have left the moment his eyes found me. That would have been the sensible thing to do.
But I stayed, because even as the training resumed and the clashing continued, I knew that somewhere beneath that discipline and unwavering control, he was aware of me.
Mi fingers tightened in the silk of my sleeves.
I should have turned away, but once again, I did not.
The training began to wind down as the night deepened.
The strikes turned into final exchanges, then into nothing at all. One by one, the samurai stepped back, bowing to one another before retrieving their belongings. Voices replaced the rigid cadence of drills, and the lanterns dimmed. The yard slowly emptied, and with it, the fragile space I had stolen for myself began to close.
With a sigh, I stepped back from the wall, letting the darkness release me as I turned away.
The path along the garden was hushed, removed from the echoes of training. Here, the night was gentler; it wrapped around the stones and low branches in a stillness I rarely found within the palace walls.
Pale blossoms had opened in the dark, their petals catching what little moonlight slipped through the trees. I reached out, brushing one with my fingertips.
The scent was sweet. The air soft. The world was quiet for a while.
Until a hand closed around my wrist.
I barely had time to draw a breath before I was pulled back, my shoulders meeting the wooden wall behind me. The impact was not harsh, but sudden enough to steal the air from my lungs.
And then he was kissing me, and for a single suspended heartbeat, everything else ceased to exist: the palace, the rules, the countless reasons this should not be happening. There was only warmth, the strength of his body pressing me against the wall.
My hand found his sleeve, gripping the fabric as though to steady myself against the suddenness of it. He drew me closer, until I could feel the heat of him through layers of silk and cotton, the steady rise and fall of his breath no longer measured as it had been in the training yard.
He smelled of sweat and earth, of effort and steel.
It was intoxication.
For a moment, he forgot himself. And I let him.
But just as suddenly, he pulled back.
His forehead came to rest against mine, his breath still uneven, as though he were forcing himself to remember something he had abandoned entirely.
Control.
I felt it return to him in pieces. In the stilling of his hands. In the tightening of his jaw. In the quiet restraint that settled between us.
When he finally stepped away, the distance felt colder than the night air.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, his voice low and roughened with the strain of holding too much inside it.
I let out a soft breath, though it did not steady me.
I was tired of that word: should.
Tired of the careful lessons, the endless expectations, the invisible boundaries drawn around my life as though I had no will within it. Tired of being told what I must be, what I must not want, what I must never reach for.
“I know,” I said.
But he understood. He knew why I was breaking the rules.
It was because of him.
That was the most dangerous part of all.
He stood there, caught between duty and his heart, the conflict written plainly in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his hands had curled at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach for me again.
The weight of what we were did not fall equally between us. If we were discovered, it would not be me who bore the consequences. It would be him; my father’s finest swordsman.
“We both know that won’t stop me,” I continued, not defying him, just stating what was true.
He did not answer.
For a man so precise in movement, so decisive in combat, Noah stood utterly still. His eyes remained on mine, but it was no longer the sharp awareness of the training yard. It was something quieter and far more dangerous.
He was considering my defiance, my longing, the exhaustion of a life lived within walls that had never once asked what I wanted.
I saw it in him: the fracture he was living with. Duty pulling him one way, and his heart pulling him toward me.
Slowly, as though testing the limits of his own restrain, he lifted his hand. For a moment, I thought he might stop himself, but he didn’t. His fingers brushed my cheek, calloused form years of training yet impossibly gentle. He traced the line of my face as though committing it to memory, his thumb lingering beneath my eye.
This man, who moments ago had disarmed three opponents without hesitation, touched me as though I were something fragile.
As though I mattered.
“You make this… difficult,” he murmured at last.
I could say I was sorry, but if I were, I would not have lied to my mother and fled my room that evening. I learned into the warmth of his large hand before I could stop myself and said, “I miss you.”
Noah’s jaw tightened.
“We see each other every day,” he said.
“At a distance,” I replied. “Surrounded by others. I have to pretend you don’t exist, and you have to treat me as the Shogun’s daughter.”
His shoulders sagged. He could not deny my words. There was a wall between us, even as he held me, touched me, kissed me. A sea between us that would require sacrifice to cross.
At some point, his attention shifted, and he reached toward the low branches beside us.
He plucked two flowers without seeming to think, turning them between his fingers. I followed his every movement, afraid that this stolen moment would be the last, that Noah would put an end to it before anyone else could.
“There are servants’ corridors they don’t watch closely,” I began, sound almost desperate. “And the sound garden is rarely—”
He lifted the flowers, his eyes flickering to my hair, and tucked them just above my left ear. His fingers stayed there a moment longer than necessary.
“You think too far ahead,” he said, almost under his breath.
“And you don’t think far enough,” I replied before I could stop myself.
“Because if I did,” he said, his voice tightening, “I wouldn’t have followed you to this secluded spot. I wouldn’t have spared a glance at you tonight. I wouldn’t have—”
The muscles in his jaw clenched as he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.
Because there was no future for us.
I drew a slow breath, steadying myself. I refused to acknowledge that. Maybe I should stop thinking about where this would end, just as he was doing.
“There is a pond,” I insisted. “Beyond the south garden. I am permitted to walk in the gardens. No one knows about the pond. It’s beyond the grounds. You have to cross an abandoned cottage and…”
His gaze sharpened, understanding what I was asking before I had even finished.
“I could go tomorrow,” I continued, searching his face. “At this same hour. No one will notice I’m gone.”
Noah exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling visibly over him.
He said nothing. The lines of duty were carved into him; the discipline that had shaped ever part of his life was now turning against him.
His eyes dropped, as though measuring something within himself, something that had already begun to slip beyond his control.
“I will try,” he said. “But I cannot promise you anything.”
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
Him trying, for us, was enough.
He stepped closer again. His hand lifted once more and brushed against the flowers he had placed in my hair, adjusting them without thought, his touch lingering, grounding him in something real, in me, before it slipped away again.
His brown eyes returned to mine, and when he kissed me again, it was certain and soft. My hand rose to his sleeve again, holding on, anchoring myself to something that could so easily be taken from me.
His forehead rested against mine again, his breath steady, his head tilting as if he did not want to part.
“I will come,” he said, low and certain. “If there is any way at all.” A pause. Then, softer, “I will find it. I will find you. And if I do not…” he added quietly, his eyes holding mine, “it will not be because I chose otherwise.”
THE BLADE BETWEEN US → COMING SOON 🗡️
I’m going to be writing another short story featuring Samurai!Noah, set before the events of The Unmaking of a Warrior. It will have around five chapters and will focus on Samurai!Noah and the princess as they meet and fall in love, only to be forced apart when conflict breaks out in the region and Noah, being the Shogun’s most skilled swordsman, is called away to war.
I will also make a poll to know if you're more interested in reading about their future, after they settle at the Sanctuary and become parents (because I would love to write about that, too!) or the past ☺️
"I should not have been there. Every lesson drilled into me since childhood warned against it. A princess did not hide in shadows to watch warriors. A daughter of the Shogun did not risk scandal for a man who served her father.
But I could not look away, because beneath the lantern lights, he was not just a Samurai; he was also the only thing I had ever truly chosen for myself."
Summary: After a painful breakup, you reunite with Noah at a party and try to walk away, but unresolved feelings force a confrontation where both of you admit you never stopped loving each other—and choose to try again.
Only Yours
Summary: You are on tour with Noah and your brothers band when your past comes back to haunt you.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough that something in her stilled for half a second, like her body recognized him before her eyes did.
She didn’t turn right away.
Didn’t need to.
Because a second later—
warmth pressed in behind her, familiar and steady, and Noah’s hand slid along her waist like it had always belonged there.
“Miss me?” he murmured, his voice low against her ear.
Sloane smiled before she could stop herself.
“You’ve been gone for like… twenty minutes.”
“Long enough.”
His other hand found hers, fingers threading easily between hers as he pulled her back into him without resistance. The movement was natural. Unquestioned. Like it happened every time they were in the same space—which, most of the time, it did.
Sloane leaned into him, her head tipping slightly toward his.
“You’re dramatic,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Noah replied. “You love it.”
She turned then, just enough to look at him.
He was already watching her.
He always was.
There was something about the way his expression softened when their eyes met that still caught her off guard, even now. Like no matter how long they’d been doing this—no matter how much time had passed—it never dulled.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“You’re here,” he answered.
Like that explained everything.
Maybe it did.
Sloane huffed a quiet breath, but her hand came up anyway, brushing lightly along his jaw before settling there for a second.
Then she leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
Didn’t need to be.
It was familiar in a way that made everything else fade just slightly around the edges. His hand tightened at her waist, grounding her there, keeping her close like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
“Jesus, can you two not do that in the middle of the room?”
Jolly’s voice cut in from across the space, loud enough to break the moment but not quite ruin it.
Sloane pulled back just enough to glance over Noah’s shoulder.
Jolly stood near a stack of cases, shaking his head with a grin that said he wasn’t actually annoyed.
“Do what?” she asked, completely unbothered.
“That,” Folio added from somewhere behind him, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “Whatever that is. It’s a lot.”
Noah didn’t move.
Didn’t step away.
If anything, his arm tightened slightly around her waist.
“Then stop looking,” he said easily.
That got a snort out of Folio.
“Hard not to when you’re literally in the middle of everything.”
Sloane rolled her eyes, but there was a smile sitting just under it as she shifted slightly, still close to Noah.
“You’re all just jealous,” she said.
“Of what?” Jolly shot back.
“Of this,” she replied, gesturing lightly between her and Noah.
That earned a laugh.
Even Nick, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, let out the smallest hint of one.
“You’re walking into a tour,” Nick said, his tone more grounded but no less amused. “You might want to pace yourselves.”
Sloane glanced at him.
“I think we’ll manage.”
Nick’s gaze held hers for a second, then nodded once.
“I know you will.”
There was respect in it.
Trust.
That mattered more than anything else he could’ve said.
Sloane felt Noah’s hand shift slightly at her waist again, his thumb brushing once along her side in a way that was absent but grounding.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
That was different.
Not teasing.
Not light.
Sloane looked back at him.
Because this part—
This mattered.
“You’re asking me to take over your entire tour,” she said. “You really think I’m not ready?”
Noah’s expression didn’t change.
“I think you haven’t done it in a while.”
A beat.
“And I think it matters.”
Sloane held his gaze.
Because it did.
All of it did.
The work.
The time.
The distance it would create again if they weren’t careful.
“You know why I stopped,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he replied.
“And you’re still asking me to come back into it.”
“I’m asking you to do it with me.”
That—
That was the difference.
Sloane felt it immediately.
The shift in the way he said it.
The way it wasn’t about pulling her back into something she left.
It was about pulling her into something they’d share.
Her hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, her fingers curling there slightly.
“You’re making it really hard to say no,” she murmured.
Noah’s mouth curved just slightly.
“Good.”
She huffed a small breath, shaking her head.
Then—
“Okay.”
No hesitation this time.
“I’ll do it.”
Something in him shifted.
Not relief.
Something deeper.
His hand tightened slightly at her waist, pulling her closer for just a second before he leaned in, pressing another quick kiss to her lips.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
Sloane smiled softly.
“I know.”
From across the room—
Gabe watched.
He stood just outside the center of it all, one hand resting loosely against the edge of a case, his posture relaxed enough that no one would think twice about it.
But his eyes—
they stayed on her.
On them.
On the way Noah’s hand didn’t leave her.
On the way she leaned into him without thinking.
On the way everything between them looked—
easy.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Barely noticeable.
“They’re a lot,” Jolly muttered again, quieter this time.
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