summary: void has sworn to leave his malicious habits behind for you, but when his darkness got the best of him, he’s starting to doubt whether he’s enough for you
word count: 2.8k
warnings: minor descriptions of blood, violence and injury and also a whole lot of angst
a/n: not too proud of this but it’s my first void fic for @writingsbychlo’s void month! (a day late but better late than never right?) hope yall enjoy it 🤍 oh and as always please mind the grammatical errors
With bloodied hands, he gazes at the lifeless bodies scattered on the floor, a pool of blood starting to form under his feet. Still in a hazy trance, he inhales a sharp gasp, feeling the air fill his lungs as he regains his consciousness, pictures flashing his mind.
Moments ago, his wrists were tied firmly to the arms of a metal chair as he tried to break free, feeling the straining sting each time he pushed. Three hunters, probably Monroe’s men, brought him to an abandoned room located somewhere in the Beacon Hills tunnels earlier, having the orders to beat some information out of him since Monroe was pretty skeptical about the deal with Scott.
Yes, Void was no friend to Scott, not after the whole debacle a few years back. But you were. And somehow, the hunters knew just how important you are to him.
“The mighty, fearful nogitsune, look at him now, tied down to a chair like a poor dog,” one of the men tutted as he hovered around the room while the others stood around.
A punch was thrown to his cheeks, a red mark starting to appear from the harsh contact.
“Let’s make this easy, you tell me what Scott’s pack is up to, and maybe I’ll let you go alive.”
Glaring at the man in front of him, Void stayed quiet. His lack of response earned another round of fits on his throbbing face that was already starting to bruise.
“Where are they?” He pulled Void’s hair back, revealing his badly injured face to him, a smirk plastered on Void’s face.
“Is this all you got?” he snickered, spitting some blood out of his ripped lips.
Frustrated, he told the two men behind him to prep a machine as he clasps wires onto Void’s torso. He then turned away to grab a bucket of water, dumping it all over Void, drenching his clothes and body.
“You ask for it.” After grabbing a controller from one of his fellow hunters, he pressed the button as a sudden electric current jolted through Void’s body.
“Now tell me, what are they up to?” he asked which was followed by Void’s maniacal laugh.
“Suck my dick.” Amping up the voltage, he pressed the button again, Void groaning painfully.
The ‘interview’ went on for a while as Void tried to hold his rage back, the darkness seeping through. Oh, how much he wanted to let chaos loose again. He could easily let the power consume him once more, the electricity barely wounding him. But he held those urges back and let them torture him only for one reason- no, one person, you.
You’re his anchor, his tether to the light. You bring out the best in him, making a lover out of the once heartless sociopath.
But his effort was to no avail once those sickly bastards brought up your name.
“God, look at you! All beaten up. Is it just me or are you getting weaker? People talked highly of you, it’s kind of disappointing.” He then inched closer to him, both of them face to face with each other. “Oh, or maybe it’s that little human bitch that you’re hooking up with. I wonder how loud she’ll scream tonight when we shoot her little pack to death.”
“What?” Void spat, the man starting to process the information he just unintentionally gave out.
“You planned a fucking massacre?!” Void snapped as he furiously jerked his body in order to free himself. Panicked, the man backed off and pressed the button, electrocuting Void once again.
“I’m going to kill all of you!” Void yelled as he relentlessly tried to break free.
As more profanities and threats left Void’s lips, the man grew anxious, turning up the voltage to debilitate him as much as possible. But what he didn’t know was that the rope binding Void to the chair was slowly burning.
With one last yank, the ropes snapped off as Void immediately got on his feet. The man who was previously taunting Void backed away as the other two men with guns shielded him.
Before they could shoot, Void advanced to one of them, knocked his head, and grab ahold of his gun. He then shot his colleague with the gun before turning to him, firing another load to make sure he’s dead.
Two men down, one more to go.
The unarmed man took out a pocket knife, aimlessly swinging it in the air, trying to defend himself. Waiting for the right timing, Void held his hand out, forcefully grabbing the man’s arm. Squeezing it tightly, he twisted the man’s arm until the knife clangs onto the floor.
Claiming the abandoned knife, Void wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, shoving him to the wall.
“You think you can kill the nogitsune?” With gritted teeth, he stabbed the man in the stomach, a red patch slowly spreads on his shirt, and twist the blade around, an agonizing wail left the man’s lips.
“Bad idea,” he growled as he pulled the knife out and let it slip out of his grip, the man plopping down to the cold concrete, slowly passing out.
And here he is now, standing frozen in front of the aftermath. As the adrenaline starts to fade out, a tangle of unresolved emotions floods him.
Surprisingly, the emotion he’s able to first figure out is guilt. He has vowed not to kill again, not to let his devious self take over again, and he broke that vow, one that he made just for you.
Oh God, Y/N. He recalls what the man previously said before he was slaughtered in cold-blooded. Without thinking twice, Void rushes over to Scott’s house where Y/N said she would meet the pack after they have executed their plan to distract the hunters.
Bursting the door open, Void is met with your shocked face, the pack also having similar looks on their face. You are unsure whether you are more surprised by his unexpected arrival or by the blood splatters all over his body.
“Void, what are you-“
“You all need to leave, now! They’re going to attack,” Void demands frantically.
“What do you mean-“
“Everybody get down!” Lydia screams.
Before anyone can process anything, red lasers are pointed into the house, sounds of gunshots filling the air as everyone immediately duck down.
Instinctively, Void hovers over you, covering you from the flying bullets and the shattering glasses. He embraces you so tightly in his arms, protecting you from the danger that is currently occurring.
As the shots subside, his wrapped arms loosen around you. But instead of being met with your terrified but completely safe figure, he is met with more blood on his hands as your eyes flutter shut, slipping out of your consciousness.
────── ˋ*✧₊∘
With trembling arms and bouncy feet, Void sits in the waiting room of the hospital along with Scott and Malia. He is on edge, probably close to losing his sanity. The thought of losing the only person he has ever loved is killing him.
“Y/N and Mason are out of surgery. Thankfully the bullets missed all the vital organs so they will be okay. Melissa, Lydia, and Argent are still inside. It might take a bit longer since their wounds are more severe,” Sheriff Stilinski explains as Void immediately searches for your room.
Swinging the door open, he sees you laying on the bed in the tedious white hospital gown, tucked in a warm quilt perfectly like you’re simply asleep. Moving closer, the sound of beeping machines and your soft wheezes slowly grow more audible. Dragging a chair to the side of your bed, he gently sits down, not making any noises that could wake you up.
He places his palms on top of yours as he scans through the details of your peacefully sleeping face. The moles scattered along your face, the little bumps on your skin, the few acne scars on your cheeks, he finds those flaws you usually pointed out to him to be beautiful. He has always thought that you are perfect, even since the day he fell in love with you.
“Are we seriously trusting him?” Stiles grunted unbelievably as he pointed over to his doppelgänger.
“We need all the help we can get, Stiles.” Scott tried to convince his best friend as the rest of the pack stood quietly, not wanting to take sides.
“Am I the only sane person here? He killed Allison, Scott! How are we going to trust him?”
Void raised his hands halfway, in a classroom manner. “Technically, the oni killed her-“
“Shut up, Void. The OG Stiles is talking,” Stiles snarked which earned a few muffled giggles from several members of the pack, yourself included.
“I don’t trust him too, Stiles. But the beast is out there and we have to catch him.” Scott gave Stiles one of his pitiful puppy eyes as Stiles rolled his eyes and grumbled in defeat.
“Fine. But watch it, Void,” Stiles turned to him, getting closer. “Cause I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” He stuck up two of his fingers and pointed them from his eyes to Void’s, basically implying that he will be skeptically observing him, before walking past Void, bumping his shoulders on the way.
As the tension cools down, the pack was back to discussing a way to get through to Mason. Over the slightly messy animal clinic, due to the previous dread doctors encounter, Void was sat on the corner, not wanting to be too involved in the discussion, knowing he would only cause more dispute.
“Here.” You approached him and hand him a bag of chocolate chip cookies that you didn’t get to eat earlier. “Eat up, you look like you’re dying.”
“Yeah well, that’s what you get for going on a strife and pain fast for a long time,” Void scoffed as he accepted your act of kindness, mumbling a small ‘thank you'.
“Well, I’m glad you no longer went down that road.” You awkwardly straightened the wrinkled materials of your jeans and slumped beside Void.
“Why are you talking to me? I mean I killed your friend, shouldn’t you be mad at me like Stiles?” The tone of his voice was sincere, no judgment or skepticism, just genuinely clueless.
“What you did was inexcusable but I believe everyone deserves a second chance, even you.” You turned to look at his whiskey eyes, identical to your best friend’s but with a hint of darkness and sorrow.
“And I suppose Allison would have wanted me to not live with so much hatred in my heart. She would’ve wanted me to forgive you.” You shrugged as you snitched the untouched bag of cookies from his hands and open the packaging, trying to shift the mood.
“On second thought, I’ll have one.” You grabbed one cookie in your hand and took a big bite.
“Now, you can have the rest,” you mumbled while still chewing the cookies as you gave him back the now opened bag of cookies.
He watched you slowly finish your cookie, not really eating one himself. He was too occupied with your beauty, even though crumbs were all over your face from all of the munchings. But most importantly, he was in awe of your kind heart. Never in his thousand years of life had Void felt this much warmth. And never did he expect the cause of it to be you, an ordinary girl who simply choose to see the goodness in this wicked and vile world.
From that moment forward, Void made a vow to himself. He promised to leave his malicious habits behind and be a better person, for you.
But that promise was broken. He did this to you.
Even after killing all those men, he still wasn’t quick enough to save you.
Maybe it’s karma. Maybe, the universe is trying to punish him for not living up to his words, and you’re the one paying for his sins.
He is no good for you. You’re like an angel, and he is the devil, corrupting you. Whenever he is around, chaos and pain will always follow and he doesn’t want you to be caught in the crossfires of his wars, not anymore.
His fingers are now intertwined with yours as warm tears slowly flow down his cheeks.
Bringing your entwined hand up to his face, he pressed his lips on the back of your palm and rest it back on the bed.
Tucking stray hairs away from your face, he then leans in to place another chaste kiss on your forehead before standing up.
“I’m going to make them pay,” he mutters sternly before heading out of your room.
Just as he reached the door handle, he glances at you one last time, his lips purse up to a melancholic smile.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers as he finally goes through the door.
────── ˋ*✧₊∘
Hearing pumps and buzzes, you slowly get a hold of your senses, starting to wake up. Inhaling sharply, a pungent smell of chemicals immediately clouds your sense of smell as an excruciating sting strikes your left shoulder.
Mind still blurry, you try to recollect the incident earlier. Instantly, you flutter your eyes open, squinting at the sudden bright light entering your pupils. You carefully sit up, not to initiate further pain from the bullet wound, and try to take in your surroundings.
It is empty.
You’re about to ignore the throbbing ache, get on your feet, and search for the others, but was stopped by the sight of a bag of chocolate chip cookies wrapped with a tiny sky blue ribbon and a neatly folded letter on top of your bedside table.
Beaming to yourself, you grab your favorite treats first, tearing the wrappers before shoving one up your mouth, feeling overly hungry from the long surgery.
Placing the rest back on the bedside table and dusting some crumbs off your hands, you switch to the piece of paper with your name on it, written by handwriting you’re too familiar with. You gently lift the top fold, revealing the written message inside the page left by your boyfriend.
Dear Y/N,
I hope this letter would reach you once you wake up and that Malia didn’t throw it away just to tick me off, but you’re probably wondering why I’m not there in the hospital with you by now.
Well, I did something, Y/N. Something I promised not to do. I let the darkness take over me and I don’t think I can hold it back anymore.
I’m a monster, Y/N. No matter how much I try, that’s just who I am, dangerous and poisonous, and I don’t want you to get hurt more because of me.
So now, I’ll be away, trying to catch the son of a bitch who did this to you, and knowing you, you will continue to fight with your friends. But after we’re done, please don’t come find me.
Being with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life and I was incredibly lucky to be able to know you and be loved by you, but I’m never going to be enough for you, Y/N.
You’re the most selfless, loving, and beautiful person I’ve ever met. Even when the whole world has given up on me, you have always believed in me. And because of that, you deserve someone better, someone who can keep you safe and happy, someone I can’t be.
And I’m so sorry that you won’t get a proper goodbye because I’m afraid that if I wait until you wake up, I might not have the strength to let you go.
So please, take care, love. Always be the ray of sunshine I know you are. Keep on touching people’s hearts, just like you touched mine.
Goodbye, darling.
Remember, I’ll always love you, forever.
Love, your devious boyfriend, Void.
A quiet sob leaves your lips, cheeks damp from the warm tears that unknowingly started to pour out midway through the letter.
If the sting you felt earlier from your wound was painful, well this one is surely a zillion times worse, your whole body aching and the worse part is that there’s nothing you can do to ease it.
It is as if all the air inside your lungs are sucked out from you, unable to breathe, occasionally gasping and choking on your own tears.
Crumpling the letter, you clutch your chest where the pain is almost unbearable. You curl up and let yourself weep and drown in misery for a while, not being able to cease the crying anyways.
As you slowly grow tired, eyes puffy and nose red, you lean back on the headboard.
The agony never stopped, but you no longer have the energy to cry anymore, all the life left in your body drained out.
What’s left in you is just a numb and empty feeling, your heart no longer whole, a part of it left along with him.
You stare soullessly into the void monotonous room, the only thing you can think about is how you’re going to continue to live without the love of your life.
Amongst the negative thoughts, a flickering hope fights to emerge within you, that maybe you can convince him to stay.
Wiping the drying tears away, you finally made up your mind. You are a fighter, you do not give up. So from now on, you’re hell-bent to make him come back to you, to make him believe that he is indeed enough for you.
summary; after a surprise visit to see the man you can’t get out of your head, a deeper chat only makes the two of you closer.
notes; sorry it’s a couple of minutes late, y’all, but I hope you love it!
warnings; none, really! just some sad references but that’s about it!
Leaning across the counter with a second portion of pancakes for your friend, Lydia scooped out a generous helping of the best vanilla ice cream the two of you could find at the store, and slathering it with syrup to follow. Balancing your elbows on the kitchen counter, your redhead-friend rubbed at Allison’s back slowly, and the brunette was digging in.
Her hair was greasy and pulled back, with half of the strands falling out. The usually bright and bouncy curls that she wore had gone limp and become tangled waves, and some strays hairs were sticking to the syrup on her cheeks. Running a cloth under the tap, you wrung it free of loose drops, and turned to her. Wiping at her cheeks as she chewed, you cleared away the dry tears that had pools in the dimples, feeling her chew aggressively at her meal as you cleaned her up.
“You get much sleep last night, Ally?”
“No. Spent the night staring at that stupid spot on Facebook that says ‘single’.” She scoffed through her food, a few crumbs spraying free, and you sighed. Putting the cloth down, you moved around the counter, hugging her from the side, and brushing a hand along her hair soothingly. “My eyes hurt from the screen. Can I have more pancakes?”
“You have anymore pancakes, you’re gonna’ explode.” You giggled, and she groaned, her head dropping to her hands as she rubbed the heels of her hands into them. Allison had always been excellent at hiding her feelings, she was a master at it, really, and it wasn’t often that she let you and Lydia in on her problems until they’d become overwhelming. You’d known her for years, and her poker face still bested you both, until every wall cracked and the glass shattered. “How about a shower or something, instead?”
“I don’t feel like a shower.”
“A bath, then? I’ll run it real nice, with bubbles, and put some salts in it. Make it smell real good. Afterwards, we can do some skincare, and I’ll curl your hair. Make you feel beautiful and strong again, and make him see what he’s missing.” Lydia twirled a limp piece of deep brown hair that seemed a little duller than usual around a single thin finger.
“Yeah. Okay.” She sighed, pausing a little longer, and pushing a syrupy plate away from herself, groaning again when she looked at it. Running her finger through the melted ice cream and sticky syrup, she ducked the pad clean, letting Lydia guide her away, but not without glancing back over her shoulder to you. She was just as shocked as you were, Allison was taking her break-up hard, and it had come out of nowhere.
Your phone chimed in your back pocket, it had been going off for hours since you’d woken up, but a chance to check it hadn't arisen since Allison had scraped herself out of her bedroom at just after midday. The screen lit up with Noah’s name across the front, a few other texts, ones that didn’t actually require your response but just updating you on the progress of your car. It had been towed, and his tutor had looked over it, signing it off as a part of his own graduation project and it had arrived at his garage, hooked up to one of the lifts and ready to be installed.
This was simply a text to let you know that he was going to start work on it, and that he was excited to do so.
Leaning back on the counter, you nibbled a little on your lower lip, trying to decide how to reply. While none of his messages demanded an answer, you wanted to be able to at least start a conversation with him because you hadn't been given a chance all day. Your thumb hovered over the screen, unsure of quite how to proceed because despite being able to work easily with everyone else, he still threw you off, and made you nervous.
With a few quick taps against the interactive glass, you had ent your response. Something simple, a joke about hoping the car wasn’t terminal once he opened it up, and after only a second, the ‘delivered’ notice underneath your text changed to a ‘read’ receipt. You waited, the few dots flashing under your message in a grey bubble for a little while.
“Who’re you smiling at?” Lydia teased, and you jumped, never having heard the shorter woman sneaking into the kitchen once again, and she was standing at the other side of the island, fingers tapping on the counter. “Don’t try and deny it, you’re all smiley and bright. It’s cute. Who’s on the other end?”
You sighed, placing the device face down, the text back from him not yet having come through, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter as she matched you, legs swinging as she waited opposite you. “Noah. He’s fixing my car for me.”
“That pile of rust can even be fixed? I thought it was hopeless.”
“So did I.” Your hands clasped between your knees, rubbing nervously as you hoped to hear the buzz and chime of your phone on the counter with the incoming text that was leaving you hanging, but the gap only grew. “But, he says he can check it out. He’s gonna’ add it onto his graduate project, so he can fix it through the college.”
“Sounds.. sweet.” Her eyes narrowed, a calculating look directed toward you and you squirmed a little under her gaze. “So, what is this, exactly?”
“What is what?” A single, perfectly manicured brow rose at your denial, and your eyes rolled involuntarily at yourself, watching her lean back onto her hands and cross one leg over the other, a little scary in her stance as her stare remained. “Okay, fine. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even really know if he likes me at all. I don’t know how I really feel about him, and whether the fact that he’s opening up to me is just making me feel special. I’m focusing on my study, that has to come first.”
“You’re being smart. Smart with your heart. I like that.”
“Well, I don’t want to end up like Ally. She’s hurting so much, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it as well as her, and she’s not handling it all that well.” There was a giggle shared between you both, and at the mention of your other roommate, your eyes flickered around. There was silence filling the apartment, not the subtle splashing and crying that you’d expected. “Where is she? You drew that bath quickly.”
“I didn’t even get a chance. I left her sitting on the edge of her bed, and when I came back to ask her which salts she wanted, she’d pulled the curtains and fallen asleep. She needs it.” Your heart ached for her, and you only hoped she’d be able to recover from her heartbreak soon, because watching a woman so powerful, someone you adored and admired so much, crumble as she had, was devastating. Your eyes flicked down to your phone, the silence bothering you now, and as you turned it over and the home screen flashed up, there were no notifications. “No text?”
“No.”
“Well, y’know, he’s working on your car, right? He’s probably got greasy fingers, doesn’t want to touch his phone, or whatever.” She shrugged, and you knew she was just trying to make you feel better, but you allowed it to happen. It was plausible, it made sense, and at the end of the day, you hadn't done anything wrong, so he couldn’t be mad at you. “I think you should go over there.”
“To the garage?”
“Yeah. I mean, you can’t help with the car, you can barely keep it running when it’s road-worthy, but you could keep him cheery.” There was a joke hiding behind her eyes, the mood she was referring to being the grumpiness he usually held having melted away a little, and you hoped you were at least partially responsible for that.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. He doesn’t take well to surprise company.”
“Yeah, in crowds. Take a sandwich or something, like a peace offering.” She hopped down, heels clicking on the floor as she did, and she moved around to the fridge. Opening it up and peering inside, tutting to herself. “Okay. We don’t have sandwich things. We barely have anything, actually. We need to go shopping, but I still think you should go.”
“I think I’m just gonna’ g-”
Her hand slammed down on the counter, a loud clink from the promise ring on her index finger, and you jumped. “Go get dressed, look pretty, and if you’re speedy, I’ll pack a chocolate bar in your bag.”
“Uh, excuse me, mom. I don’t even have the address to the garage.”
“I’ll text Stiles while you’re getting dressed.” She countered, and you slid down from where you were stood to stand opposite her, tucking your phone into the pocket of your pyjama pants.
“I don’t have a car to get there.”
“I’ll call a cab.” Her arms crossed over her chest, clearly not taking no for an answer, and you huffed an exhale through your nose.
“Why are you pushing this so hard?” The question was hanging in their air, the sudden enthusiasm she showed towards whatever was going on was a little overwhelming, and her defensive stance sagged a little.
“Because I think you’re good for him, and I think he’s good for you too. Leigh said she saw you at the restaurant a few days ago, with a guy who made you smile in a way that can’t be faked.” Her arms fell to hang by her sides, and she took a fraction of a step closer to you. “I’ll be damned if years from now he’s just a ‘what if’ while you cry on my shoulder the night before your wedding. Maybe it works out, maybe it doesn’t maybe it never takes off, but at least he’ll never be a ‘what if’ that haunts you. I don’t want another broken-hearted best friend.”
“Lyds..”
“Don’t do that. I’m not going mushy. I’m just looking out for you.” She pointed a red-painted nail at you, a smile curling on matching coloured lips. “So, go put on the yellow floral sundress that makes your tits look good, and I’ll book you a cab. Then, you’ll always know that you gave it a go.”
“Fine.” Her face split in a grin at your confirmation, white teeth shining to you as she clapped excitedly, producing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, waving her other hand at you as she shooed you into your room. “I only need a couple of minutes.”
“Take your time. Look cute.” She gave you a wink as you walked away, trying to avoid the way you felt about seeing him to focus on the care your best friend gave to you. Closing the door, the room felt unusually silent as you looked around. Your rooms as tidy, you’d spent the night cleaning as a way to keep yourself away while consoling Allison, who’d lay on your bed staring at the ceiling into the early hours, before retiring to her bed.
As instructed, you plucked the yellow sundress she spoke of so fondly from the closet, and placed it down onto the bed, smoothing it out. The summer was coming in but the temperatures were still a little chilly, meaning a jacket was necessary, but Lydia wouldn't be so approving. When she set her mind on an outfit, there was usually a purpose behind it, and today’s purpose was to make you feel flirty.
This dress had always held confidence for you before now, it had been a first date dress, and a party dress, and a picnic dress, but right now it was working for you as simply a friendly-hangout dress. It was testing the waters, to get a rise out of him. A reaction to see whether you could make his eyes do that flickering scan with their eyes that boys did that made girls get butterflies, or whether he simply wouldn't care.
You felt comfortable in it, hands brushing away creases over the front of your body as denim creased from the jacket on your arms, socks sliding against the floor as you went. The door clicked a little behind you, a freshly applied set of products on your phase still having that momentary adjustment period that made your nose twitch, trying to resist the urge to touch it. Lydia was texting at the counter, your bag out beside her, still open as she’s packed it, and a pair of boots on the floor.
Spinning around a bar stool at the sound of your entry, her eyes moved along you, head tipping to the side, nodding slowly to herself in a way you couldn't analyse. Pulling on the shoes she had laid out, you dd a twirl for her, skirt flaring a little as you did. “Glad to see you took my advice.”
“Well, it would have taken me hours had I not already been styled.”
“That’s true.” She fastened the catch on your purse, sliding it towards you, the chain rattling as it moved and sliding from the table, ready to be caught by your awaiting hand. Opening it back up to put your phone inside, you rooted past the keys, lipgloss and wallet to find your chocolate, frowning at the candy you pulled out.
“I thought I was getting a chocolate bar.”
“You were, but we only had one left and I ate it while booking your cab.” You held up the lollipop, staring at it for a second, before putting it back inside. “Besides, it’s a candy for the cab, so you don’t have to talk to the cabbie. I know how you hate that.”
“I don’t hate it, it’s just always so awkward. The last cabbie I had told me about his dead cat. Why is cab conversation always so weird?” She chuckled, seemingly just as confused by it. Her phone chimed, and she picked it up, reading the notification for a split second, before turning it to you, and tapping her acrylic against the screen.
“Your cab is here.”
“I feel kinda’ nauseous.” You rubbed at your stomach, trying to soothe your nerves, and she came to stand before you. Her hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look her in the eyes as your face was a little squished in her hold. “I don’t even feel like this before dates.
“Get over it. Worst case, say you were passing by and wanted to say ‘hi’.” Hands dropped to your shoulder and she rounded to stand behind you, short stance holding a lot of power as she pushed you toward the door. “Now, get your cute little ass out to your cab, and go have some fun.”
“You’ll be okay with Ally on your own?” You paused in the doorway, hand on the frame once she’d opened it, half in the hall and half in the doorway, staring at her and searching for an excuse to stay, without pushing yourself from your comfort zone.
“She’s asleep, and then she’ll just want more food and to watch movies while crying. I got this.” Her hand waved, shaking her head, and pushing you back out further into the corridor. With a final glance, she closed the door, locking it from the inside to make a point, and your jaw dropped. She was watching you through the glass in the door, you knew it, and so you shook your head at her, before walking away.
As promised, there was a cab waiting for you outside, pulled up to the curb-side and you stepped inside, confirming your order with him, and he set off. Unfortunately for you, you’d never actually been to this side of campus, it was nowhere near where your psychology studies took place, and the drive was at least ten minutes. You’d never dared to venture much further than that of the science labs to pick up Lydia after a class.
The computer rooms were unfamiliar to you, you didn’t have a lot of friends who studied much over there, just a few acquaintances who took film and media, and so once you’d passed all of the production buildings, you were approaching that of mechanics and engineering. A large row of garages was laid out, and while the smell of this cab wasn’t as bad as the last, there was a smell of petrol coming in through the open windows that you’d have to get used to.
Metal saws going that sounded like nails on a chalkboard as you passed them by, at least forty individual garages, each with a student name above them, the courtyard out front was lined with cobblestones and a couple of benches. Your cab pulled up at the front of the small maze, wide passages ways for getting vehicles in and out of in several rows.
There was water by your feet as you stepped out, running from garage number six as a car inside was hosed down, and it looked as though it had been entirely taken apart. It was caked in dirt and oil, so much so that you could barely see the components inside, and a little voice in your head prompted you to think that at least your car wasn’t that bad. Of the garages that had their doors open and students working inside, almost all of those heads snapped up in a mechanics concern when the cab you were in let out a groan and a screech against the stone as it pulled away.
You couldn't see Noah, his garage wasn’t one of those that faced straight out into the main courtyard, and yet with the clouds overhead and rain threatening to break, you were positive that there couldn’t be that many to look through. The student who’d been hosing down the engine parts stopped, the sound of the jetwash coming to a close and you hadn't realised how loud it was until suddenly there was a silence surrounding it, and you let out a shaky breath.
With only a few steps, you were making your way over, knocking gently on the metal side of the closing door, and your knuckles rang out loudly at the contact. His head snapped up, thick red hair slicked back but strands were beginning to fall into his face, and he stood up from a crouch, brushing his hands off on his pants.
“Hey, uh, can I help you with something? You lost?”
“No, not lost.” You frowned, shuffling your hand to search for your bag strap, and holding on, fingers scratching at the denim with your growing anxiety.
“You look lost. Shouldn’t wear dresses here, sparks might burn your skin, you ever been to a garage before, o-”
“I’m looking for someone.” You cut off, a tight smile on your lips and his brows rose, his lips pursing at having been cut off, and a stagnant silence formed. “Noah, you know which garage number he is?”
“Who?”
Your brows furrowed, and his hands tucked into the pockets of his overalls as though it was nothing. Your hand come up, a little higher than your head in a signal. “About this tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Likes to wear dark colours and leather jackets. Frowns a lot. Any of this ringing a bell?”
“You talking about Stiles’ brother? He’s in lot ‘32. At the back.”
“His name is Noah.” You mumbled, following it with a louder ‘thank you’ for the advice, and beginning to follow the numbers above each heading. Not all of the doors were open, most were pulled closed signalling that nobody was inside, but on a few, the shutters had been pulled up. It was fascinating to see what was inside of a car, or a bike, or even the beaten up food-truck that was being renovated in lot ‘18. The walk was longer than you were expecting, each lot that wasn’t facing the courtyard had a parking space beside it for the student’s own vehicles if they needed it, doubling the space up, and your boots were scuffling against cobblestones for almost ten minutes before you found the one you were looking for.
As you rounded the corner, the door to lot ‘32 pulled up and open, and it was a little messy. Stiles’ compulsive cleaning clearly hadn't reached this space, it was Noah’s only. Various tools were scattered around, on both the floor and the counters. His jacket was slung onto a coat hook, almost falling off, and his phone and keys were on the table closest to you. Several textbooks were stacked on shelves too, with greasy fingerprints from previous usage on them.
You knocked gently on the metal, your knuckles aching a little at the contact once again, and you lifted your hand, rubbing carefully at the skin there. He was underneath your car, the hood pulled up, only his legs sticking out and there was already dirt forming on the edge of the denim. Rolling out on the board from underneath, he blinked a little at the light adjustment, staring at you blankly until his vision cleared, and then his brows were furrowing.
“Hey.” He slid out a little further, turning off the torch on his head and taking it off, a strip of pale skin that hadn't gotten as dirty as the rest of his skin, leaving a blank space that reminded you of tan-lines, and you stepped a little further in. “This is pretty much the last place I’d expect to see you.”
Your hands came together in front of you, fingers flicking around the garage and fingers playing as you swerved away from his questioning stare. “Yeah, you’re not the only one. First person I met had pretty much the same reaction, told me I don’t belong here, ‘specially not in this dress, apparently.”
You looked back to him, his eyes sweeping along you slowly, and he swallowed down, the apple bobbing in his throat before flickering back up to you. “You look great. Ignore them. Everyone here is a bit of a prick. Not to sound like one of them, but what are you doing here?”
His voice was a little flatter than usual, there was less emotion in his voice, and while he hadn't been all that chatty at all, he was less talkative today than you’d been getting used to. “I just wanted to hang out, see you ‘in action’, since you get to see me doing psychology stuff all the time.” His lips barely moved at your joke, a brief flicker at the edge, even when you laughed softly to yourself, and he nodded.
He stood up, brushing off greasy hands on his pants and leaving stains on the denim, but if you looked close enough, you could see various shades of differently faded stains, and you figured this must be one of several working outfits. “Well, good thing you’re here. I have some forms from my tutor for you. You just have to sign off, some disclaimers about a student, not a professional mechanic, working on your car, all that.”
“Yeah, of course.”
He wandered away, disappearing into the back of the garage, and when he came back, there was a small collection of papers in one hand. Three copies, each with a pin on the top to hold them and a pen in the other hand. He handed both over, his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet as you glanced over them. “I put a little cross where you need to sign on them all, to make it easier for you. There’s a copy for you, for my tutor, and one I can keep here in the garage. If you don’t want to sign them all, just sign one and I’ll photocopy it, or something.”
“I don’t mind signing them all, it’s fine.”
He only nodded, standing there for a second, and you pulled out the metal stool from underneath the counter, sitting down on it and beginning to work through the papers to look for signatures and dates to place. After the first few pages, he stopped watching, no longer leaning over your shoulder, and moving away from you. You hadn't realised that he had left until the wheels of his board were scraping on the floor again, and the muffled clanging of the work on the underside of your car had resumed.
Unlike what you’d learned about him, there was no music playing, and you’d found both from his habits, and from Stiles, that Noah basically had a playlist for everything. With how much work he must do and how much time he must spend here, you found it unlikely that he wouldn’t have a playlist for the garage. You figured something with heavy rock, loud metal music, rap and deep bass. It suited the atmosphere.
Flicking through some more papers, you put your name in print, and the date, and your signature, but the tension between you both was too much. Only the scratch of the pen drying en on the paper and the clinking of tools being swapped out occasionally was filling the silence, and the air around you was becoming thicker and harder to breathe with every inhale you took.
“You mind if I play some music?”
“If you want to.” You’d spied the abandoned speaker sitting on the counter, tucked away with a portable charger following it, and its wire wrapped around. With only a few steps to your bag, you retrieved your phone, taking the sweet treat that Lydia had slipped inside too, and undoing the wrapper. As a bubblegum flavour washed over your tastebuds, telling you blue would be staining your tongue by the time you were finished, you plugged in your phone.
“Any preference?”
“Whatever you want is fine.” He mumbled, and you sighed, wishing he would at least let you in a little bit, but he wasn’t making it any easier for you to break the tension. Instead, you were left to scroll through the music selections that you had download to your phone, in silence. Following the vibe that he gave off, you put on some AC/DC, the first thing that came to mind, and the minuscule movements you made came to a halt, a chuckle following only a second later. As short and dry as it was, you still congratulated yourself on getting a rise out of him at all.
“Your garage is giving me Iron Man vibes.”
“Noah Stark.” He muttered, empty of tone but a joke nonetheless, and you sat back down on the stool. His foot tapped lightly, but there was no rhythm to his movement as the rock filled the air at the vest volume the small speaker had, and he showed no signs of cheering up.
Eventually, you turned back to fill out the forms. The ink was getting thinner and paler as you went, and by the final few dotted lines to fill you were shaking it just to get any at all, but you managed to do so, and you gave a quiet cheer to yourself at having finished it. By now, you felt like you had the following lines all memorised for your confirmation and permissions. Folding them neatly into threes, they sat out on the desk, and you tucked one into your bag. The other two, you left sitting on the desk, tidily pushed to the side. “I’ve finished the forms.”
He grunted, a sound that almost sounded like the word ‘great’, but it barely formed syllables, and you kicked your feet on the stool in time with the rhythm. This had been exactly what you were worried about. You had shown up out of the blue, and overwhelmed him, clearly, it wasn’t a good time, and you couldn't believe you let Lydia talk you into this. The lollipop in your hand was dwindling, and pulling it from between your lips, it was half the size it had been, the flavour fading slightly, but it was still enjoyable.
Everything felt like it was becoming duller now. You were anxious, and bored, and worried that you had overstepped, and if it wasn’t the feeling of twisting nausea like a rollercoaster ride, then you didn’t really feel anything right now. “I’m sorry for just showing up, Noah.”
“What?” His words were quiet from under the car, a groan following it, and he dropped the tool in his hand, swapping it for a smaller wrench, and you turned on the stool to look at him.
“I said that I’m sorry for just showing up here.” You could only see his legs, the bottom half of him sticking out from under the car, and he didn’t budge at your words. “This is, like, your alone time and whatever. I was gonna’ bring you something like a sandwich but I didn’t have sandwich fillings, but now I feel like I should have brought something, or maybe gone to the shops beforehand because then at least I’d have something to give you, a-”
“You’re doing that rambling thing again.” He cut you off, still not coming out from under the car, and your hands clenched together, your stomach churning.
“I know, I’m sorry. For the rambling, but also for just showing up here. I know you don’t like surprises, and that’s exactly what I did. I feel like I shouldn’t have come at all, because I’m clearly bothering you but you’re just not saying it because you’re being nice.” He slid out from underneath the car, head torch leaving his head once again, and he sat up on the board. Folding his legs to sit up more, he wrapped his arms around them, and sighed.
“You’re not bothering me.” He moved, wiping his forehead on his shirt to clear a slight build-up of sweat, and he looked back to you. “I just have a lot on my mind right now, I’m stressed. But, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s nice to have company, actually. Nobody ever comes to the garage to see me, and if you’re the surprise, then I like it. This is nice. I’m sorry I’m making you feel this way. My head is just-” He waved a hand, and then scrunched it into a fist, the action being all the words that he could handle. “-weird. I don’t know. Not good thoughts.”
You hopped up from the chair, and he watched you move, swallowing down thickly again as you approached him. Sitting on the edge of the board and facing him, you copied his position, Sitting up on the edge of the board and your legs folded between his, your hands on the board in front of you to sit up. There was a frown on his face, his eyes flittering across your features again, and his frown deepened.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You gave him a smile, and he tried to return it, but his head was hanging shamefully. “You know, I’m a great listener.”
“You know when you said we could talk, without it being for the study, did you mean it?” There was a vulnerability in his eyes, like a bridge was being built, one that you’d never even broached before, and your breath hitched as his gaze remained locked on yours.
“Of course, I did. No recorder, nothing. Just me and you, talking. With AC/DC in the background.”
He laughed a little, the most honest and hearty sound you’d garnered from him yet today, and he shuffled a little closer. “Speaking of, do you mind if I change the music up?”
“You don’t like my choice?”
“I do, but I just don’t think classic rock is the choice for this conversation.” He stood, going over to your phone and picking up the device, bringing the speaker and the phone over to the two of you. While you waited, your tongue swirled around what remained of your lollipop, watching him take a seat back before you, and using your teeth to pull the rest of it off.
Placing the stick down on the ground, what was left of the hard candy crunched between your teeth. Putting your password into the device, you turned it back to him, adjusting the volume down to a low level. As he scrolled through music, you waited, rocking the board slightly with the two of you on it, and he fell into a pattern of matching you on it. The two of you pushed back and forth together, and after a few minutes of silence, you realised he was searching his own profile, and choosing between all of his own playlists.
The gentle notes of 70s country music came through the speaker, and he turned the volume down even lower, until it was just more of a soothing him in the background of you both, and he rubbed his hands together nervously in front of himself.
“You okay, Noah? Whatever it is, seems like it’s really eating at you.”
“It's just some news I got today from Stiles. It feels stupid the more I think about actually saying it to another person, but it’s really bothering me.” He sighed, dropping his head down and running his fingers through his hair in agitation, no care for the oil and grease staining his fingertips. Your forearms were resting on bent legs, and you reached your hands out to him. He looked at you for a second, gaze narrowing slightly on your open hands, before he gave in.
Slipping his hands into your own, his fingers squeezed tightly around the backs of your palms, searching for that comfort, and you curled yours back. “I’m not judging you, okay? I just wanna’ help.”
“I’m just really stressed lately. With it being last year, and all. It’s like, you’re born, and your life is planned out for you. It’s easy. You’re born, you go to pre-K, onto elementary, and then to middle school, high school, and you’re here in college. Your path is planned, it’s easy, you follow the yellow-brick road, or whatever. But, then, suddenly you come out at the end of college and it’s like wading out into the ocean and hitting the continental slope.” His exhale was shaky, and you squeezed his hands lightly, his fingers flexing backwards in response.
“I understand how you feel. I have all my hopes pinned on this final exam. I’m just a kid, studying other kids, trying to make a judgement on what I’ve learned, and this exam decides my future.” You sighed, and he smirked, nodding his head.
“Right? It’s fucking terrifying.”
“And that’s what’s hanging over your head?”
“No.” That frown was back, his hands tightening and loosening, the thoughts flying through his mind visible like a script you couldn't read, watching as he tried to decipher his thoughts and put them together. “It would be easy for me to just get a job at a garage, right? There are garages everywhere, and people’s cars always break down, so it wouldn’t be such a struggle.”
“You can always fix my car, when I inevitable break it.” He smiled, the rocking of the board that you both sat on coming to a stop, despite you trying to lighten the mood.
“My first customer. Promise you’ll be loyal?”
“Totally.”
“Cool.” He whispered, and just like that, the mood was slipping down again. “Stiles wants to travel. He’s been with Derek for years now, and they have their ups and downs but they have never even taken a break. They want to travel together, they’re making plans together. That makes sense, I get it and I’m happy for him, but it’s always been me and him making plans. I’m kinda’ throw by it. We’re hurtling towards the end of the year, six months to go and I’m going to be left alone on the lurch, while he makes plans, and this time, I really will be left behind.”
“Oh, Noah..”
“No, don’t pity me, okay?” He sniffled a little, but he was angry at himself, and it was clear that he hated how much he was bothered by it. “Don’t pity me because it’s stupid. I can’t have my twin right by my side forever like some kind of safety blanket. I have to be able to let him go, because he has clearly let go of his dependence on me years ago, but it just feels so sudden and rushed now.”
“Well, what about your dad? You could go and see him for a while?”
“That's even worse.” His voice trembled as he spoke, your confusion only growing. “I can’t go home until I have something to show for it. Stiles is going to go off and travel the world with his boyfriend. If I just go back to my little town and get a part-time job at the only garage in town, it’s like admitting defeat. It’s like admitting I’m the loser son to everyone who already knows it, but just said it behind my back.”
“You’re not a loser.”
“Yeah, I kinda’ am. Stiles blossomed during college, he had that college experience that makes kids wanna’ go to the same college when they’re older just to try and have even half the experience their parents did.” You grinned, his metaphor being something that made you spark with a little amusement. “I haven’t got anything to show for it.”
“You do, you’re just not as loud as Stiles, and as we’ve already covered, that's a good thing.”
“Yeah, like what?” He challenged, and you paused, feeling put on the spot, and your mind came up blank. “Exactly.”
“Give me a minute, I’m thinking!” You hummed, searching your brain, and there was a lot that you still didn’t know about him, making your task harder. “Okay, well, for starters, you’re helping me graduate. By taking part in my study, you’re changing my whole future. I think that's pretty awesome.”
“That doesn’t count. But, thanks, I guess.”
“Do you want to hear something that might help?” His brows raised, and you dared to shuffle a few inches closer across the board, your joint hands falling to sit on the board between you both as you straighten your legs out underneath his own. “Might make you feel less shitty if you know someone else has it worse?”
“That always does make me feel better. As long as it’s not you, because that wouldn't make me feel good. I don’t want you to be in bad shit.” He squeezed your hand, before letting go, dropping down to lean back on his hands for support, and your cheeks warmed a little.
“It's not me. It’s my friend, Allison.” He was curious, you could see it on his face, and as he became less caught up in his own problems, his mood was already lifting. “She got dumped last night, by the guy she drove three hours to see a couple of weeks ago.”
“That fucking sucks.”
“Yeah. It came out of nowhere, because Ally is one of those ‘see the best ‘til everything goes majorly wrong’ kind of thing.” He grimaced, the expression being exactly how you felt about it, and you could only nod. “He’s been building a friendship with this transfer girl called Kira, she came over and started taking zoology with him. She knows a lot about foxes or wolves, or something, and Scott liked that, apparently.”
“Did she have to drive back three hours on that heartbreak?”
“Oh, he didn’t break up with her then. He broke it off with her over Facetime.” He gagged falsely, making you giggle a little, because it was an accurate representation. “That's how I felt!”
“Even I wouldn't break up with someone like that, and I’m the least socially functioning person on the planet.”
“I don’t know, Stiles probably knows a few inmates who have slightly less social skills.” You pinched your fingers together, as close as you could, and he scoffed, knocking your hand out of the way. “You feel any better?”
“Yeah, a little, I guess. Thanks.” The silence formed between you both again, and he shifted, his legs folded against the concrete until he looked more like he was kneeling, the music playing slowly. Mostly guitar notes, ones that he was tapping his fingers to slowly as he matched the rhythm, and this silence was much more comfortable. You were relieved, knowing that it wasn’t something you had done, but there was a swirling discomfort.
You were relieved, your mood was lifted back up high, but there was something still weighing him down, and you hated to think that he was still dwelling on it. You could see that there was guilt for him too, guilt for feeling angry at his brother for leaving him and guilt at himself for wishing Stiles would stay. The two would be separated at some point in their lives, it was only natural that they would be, but Noah wasn’t ready for that, and Stiles was moving on without him.
Shuffling forwards and folding your legs up to sit cross-legged on the board, your arms came out. He looked at you for a second, studying you, before looking down at himself. “You don’t want to do that. I’m covered in dirt from the underside of your car.”
“I don’t care.” Your fingers wiggled, motioning him in, and his body sagged as he let go of his tension, shifting forwards on his knees to fall into your arms. His chin hooked over your shoulder, a sigh leaving him, and his arms wrapped back around you even more firmly. Squeezed tight, and you ran one hand along his back soothingly in a way he’d done before for you, while the other rubbed over his shoulder blades.
Reaching up a little further, your hand moved on the base of his neck, scratching lightly at the shorter hairs there, before slipping up. Rubbing your fingers through his hair, he let out a soft sound, slumping further into you, and the tips of his fingers were digging into your lower back as he held onto you. “That feels nice, actually.”
“Everyone likes having their hair petted when they feel down. Makes them feel looked after, cared for.”
“Stop being such a psychology major.” He snorted, letting you play with his hair and hold him close for a second longer, before pulling back. His fingers wrapped around your wrist delicately, pulling it down, and his thumb smoothed over your skin, leaving a little black stain there against your skin, the oil on his hands marking it. “I got oil on your jacket.”
He frowned again, and you looked down at it, a few patchy spots of greying transfer on the denim, and it wasn’t too much.
“If you use dish detergent, it should come out pretty easily.”
“I’ll give it a try.” You stood, smoothing your skirt down and offering your hands to him, pulling him to his feet. “You wanna’ tell me what’s wrong with my car, then?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start. Did you do this to it, or did you buy it with some of these issues?”
A shrug was the only answer you could give, hands coming to rest on your hips. “It was pretty crappy when I bought it, not this bad, but not great. It was only a couple hundred bucks. I had to get the brake pads replaced when I got it, and the suspension sucked, and one of the windows was broken. But, it’s just been getting progressively worse.”
“Okay, well, when I’m done with it, it won't be like that. You’ll be driving safely. I have a rough idea of some parts or order to start with, but I think I’ll spray it down and take it apart a little to get started with.” He looked over at it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, staring at the vehicle for a second. “Of course, if I can find a paint match, I can fix up some of the scratches, this car is really battered and bruised, and I’m pretty sure this model is from, like, 2005 but I haven’t searched it. I know that in the supplies and storage we’ve got some tyres I can put on it, your traction is basically gone, a-” He cut himself off, turning to look at you as you stared at it, you could feel his eyes on you, and you turned to meet him. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For.. talking. A lot. About cars.” He was a little strained, and you nudged him with your arm, turning back to glance at it for a second.
“Don’t apologise, I was listening. I was just thinking about how huge of a favour I’m gonna’ owe you when this is done.” You smiled, twisting back to him and his eyes flickered over your face, seeming not to believe that you were really listening. “When I went to the garage, they quoted me three-hundred bucks just for the coil springs to be replaced, and you’re doing all this for me for free. I don’t think it should be for free. I owe you.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll figure something out.” He smirked, and you gasped, holding a hand over your heart in faux shock. “I do have one thing to show you, though!” He held his finger up, motioning for you to wait, and he moved away. Taking your car keys from where they’d been left hanging on the key-rack, he opened the front sea, sitting half into the driver’s seat, and pushing the key into the ignition.
After a few splutters and a couple of scraping turn-overs, the car started up. The engine didn’t sound so healthy, and it almost faulted out, but the car started up, and your hands flew up into the air with a cheer. Despite the struggle it had, it was at least working, and you were surprised he’d managed to achieve so much in just a few hours. “I can’t believe you got it to start up already!”
“Are you doubting my mad mechanic skills?” He killed the engine, pulling the key back out and hanging it on the rack, your keyrings and a photograph in a plastic slip dangling on them, and he slammed the door shut. “I’m probably going to call it a day, but I think it’s some pretty good progress for starting out.”
“It’s amazing progress!” He came back to standing by your side, reaching past you to pick up his jacket, and he reached inside. Pulling out a set of wipes, he took one free, wiping down his hands of grease as best he could. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
“Thanks for coming to visit me.” He finished cleaning his hands, tucking the wipes back into his pockets, the whole pack in one, and the dirty ones in the other, zipping and buttoning them up tightly. Pulling your phone from the speaker, he switched the gadget off and wrapped the wire back up, the silence forming between you both once again. Tucking it into your bag when he handed it over, he sealed up his phone into his pocket, and turned back to look at you. “You want a ride?”
“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” You scoffed, turning away from him to walk towards the entrance of the garage, and back out onto the pathway. He was scowling as he followed you, but his cheeks were red, and he snatched up his keys and your spare signed papers as he went, giving you a second to grab your bag.
“I meant, do you want a ride home? On the bike.” His cheeks only got a little redder, and as he stretched up to reach the top of the garage, his shirt rode up a little bit, dark hairs flashed along the bottom of his stomach for only a second, before pulling down the door. It shuddered as it did, and you looked away, letting him return to his normal height and lock the door with the padlock still hanging through the gap, before turning back to him. “So?”
“Yeah, that’d be pretty fun.”
You followed him to the side of the building, his bike parked up on the concrete in his dedicated parking space, his helmet hanging by one of the traps on his handles, and he took it off. Placing it over his head and letting each side with the buckle swing free for a moment, he opened up the back, revealing the second helmet with the bright blue shine.
Handing it over to you, you made sure to smooth down your hair as best as possible, before placing the helmet over your head. It was cushioned, and squeezed in a way that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but it was tight, and you were still getting used to the padding. His fingers were under your chin, the index finger knuckle digging slightly into your jaw as he tipped your head up. Staring to the sky, he did up the catch up and tapped the top, wobbling your head side to side with enough force to move your body, and you giggled a little at the action. “I think it’s on there!”
“Just checking!” He did his buckle up, smirking as you tried to steady yourself from your dizziness, and he swung his leg over the bike, popping the brace from the ground as it sprang back into place. With keys in the ignition, the bike roared into life, and you stood before him. “Any time today would be awesome.”
“Oh, cut it out.” You glared at him, swinging your leg across the bike, shifting a little on the seat once you were settled, and he zipped up the front of his jacket. Doing up a couple of the buttons along the denim, you made sure it was secure around your body, before your hands were slipping under his arms, and around his front. Leaning in closer, your front pressed to his back, you held on tightly. Feet lifted from the floor and tucked against the bike securely, you patted his front carefully in signal of being ready.
Taking the hint, he revved for a second, before the bike was spurring into life, and you couldn't help the jump you made as it did. It somehow seemed scarier to weave between the pathways of garages than it was on the roads, the thinner passages that he seemed to master perfectly. Once the two of you hit the roads, you could let a held breath go free, and you were enjoying the atmosphere again.
Seeing the university campus from the roads while on a motorbike was like seeing them for the first time, a flying journey of colour and buildings. As you went, your body seemed to tune into the ticks and twitches he made as you rode. His side would clench a little a split second before a turn, and you were beginning to lean into them with him instinctually instead of by prompt, and your fingers no longer dug into the muscles of his stomach with fear but your palms could lay flat.
Your bag was sliding around in the box behind you each time you came to a stop or a pause at a traffic light, you could hear it thump in the box, before the engine was revving again. When you finally pulled back into the parking lot of your building, he stopped the bike entirely, popping the stand back out with his toes before switching off the engine. Swinging your leg over the back and hopping a little once you were free, you came to stand back before him.
He stayed sitting on the leather, his head turning to look at you, and his upper body followed, hands coming up to undo the catch. As he lifted the helmet away, your hair got stuck in it, your head yanking to follow, and you stumbled with it, knee bumping against the edge of the bike.
“Wait, wait, wait, my hair!”
“I see that!” There was an air of panic to his voice, and he held the helmet up, your hair going slack where it was stuck, and you set to work untangling it. With all the wind that came and the breeze that had flown past, a free strand of your hair had gotten wrapped up in the catch, and you undid the knots that were forming delicately, trying not to pull them any tighter, until you were free to step back. Rubbing one hand at your scalp and one at your knee, a red patch that would form a purple bruise by the morning, but the pain was already fading. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Not the worst injuries I’ve ever lived through.” You teased, and he gave a gentle laugh, his eyes flicking down to the watch on his wrist, seeing the afternoon already fading into the evening. “What are you gonna’ do with your evening?”
“Uh, well, Stiles is going over to stay at Derek’s so they can talk about plans after graduating.” His voice was mocking over the words, and he looked disappointed in himself to follow but he couldn't help it, and you let a hand fall to his shoulder. Rubbing lightly he huffed, and looked back up to you. “I don’t know. Probably just going to sulk and try to forget about it. I normally like it when I have the place to myself for a bit, so, I’ll make the most of it.”
“You wanna’ have alone time?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a loner. I’ve become pretty comfortable in my own company.” You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, but his laughter was infectious as you tried to contain it, but your walls quickly crumbled.
“I’m serious, do you want to be alone?”
“What, you offering to keep me company?” He hummed, turning to place your helmet down on the seat behind himself.
“Yes, actually, I am.”
His face snapped back up, eyes a little wide as he stared at you. “You, uh, you’re serious? You want to hang out?”
“I think you’ve probably never seen a movie other than Star Wars, what with being related to Stiles and all, and I’m in the mood for Chinese food. I think that we should order a lot of food, and find some good comedies, or maybe make our house bigger on Minecraft, and not think about graduation for a while.” Arms crossing over your chest formed like armour, defensively in case you were rejected, watching in tentative and prolonged silence for Noah’s reply.
“Well, I think you’d better hop on, then.” He handed you your helmet back, and you held it between your hands.
“Well, there’s a really good Chinese place not far from here, and your place is only a ten-minute walk.” You rounded to the side of the bike, undoing the catch on the back-box, before swapping the helmet in your hands for the bag inside. Once it was sealed back up, Noah was already standing up, hands tucked into his pockets once he’d unzipped his jacket, and you laced your arm through his. “You sure you want company?”
“Normally it’d be a ‘no’, but I’ve been growing progressively fonder of your company.”
“Good. Because you’re going to love the egg grief rice at this place. It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“I hope it lives up to the hype, then.” His brows wiggled, slightly teasingly, and you pulled him along towards the steps at the edge of the parking lot. The skies were clouding over with a pastel array, blue being washed away as the night threatened to come in. Purple was forming overhead, pinks and oranges surrounding the sun as it disappeared behind tall buildings, no longer visible, and street lights were coming on. Dull and warm yellows from faded bulbs, flickering a little as you went, and the signs on the buildings were beginning to light up for nightlife.
There was a comfortable lull between you both, while you weren’t overly familiar with his side of campus, he wasn’t all that familiar with yours. He was trying to take it in and commit at least a fraction of it to memory, you could tell, in the way that his gaze was flicking over the streets, the buildings the people, constantly. His guard was up, every person you passed on the street who offered you both polite smiles and greetings as they went made him duck his head a little lower.
He paused, letting you do all of the greetings and petting the heads of dogs when dog-walkers passed by, your arm always finding a home linked through his again, and he let out a quiet breath of relief when you’d reached the restaurant. It wasn’t much of a dine-in place, a few small tables on the polished linoleum but it wasn’t the sort of place you’d want to stay. The lights were bright and the walls weren’t overly decorated, a few bonsai trees in pots and a stack of magazines next to the chairs in the waiting area, but their speciality was takeaway.
Heading up to the counter, a friendly face greeted you, the son of the owner who attended this school and often gave you discounts or slipped free extras into your order, more than happy to see you on a busy Friday night. You’d been fourth down in the queue to be packed, everybody wanting this food, and upon placing your order, you’d been left to sit.
There was shouting, and yelling, music coming from the background in a language that was too fast for you to even pick out the few words you’d learned over the years, and the sound of loud sizzling. The spicy mixture of smells never failed to make your stomach rumble, like a teaser to get your appetite going, or the trailers before a movie, getting you all worked up for the meal that was coming.
Thirty minutes later, with two takeout bags in hand, the two of you had been finishing the last of the walk to his apartment, Noah mumbling about how he’d never heard of this place, despite how close it was. It was a hidden gem that didn’t have a website, just a Facebook page and leaflets around the campus, keeping it a well-known secret for the lucky adventurers of town.
Balancing both bags in your arms upon reaching the top of the stairs, so that he could fish the keys from his pockets and hold the door open for you, the steam was beginning to soak through a little where the tops had been curled over, the stickers holding them shut to keep the heat locked in was becoming looser and beginning to peel themselves from the brown packaging.
Welcoming you inside, he held the door for you, scratching at the back of his neck and closing the door after you both. Hanging his keys up on the hook by the door, he flicked the lights on, the bulbs taking a second to process the electric sparking through them before light was filling the room. He looked around, hands rubbing in front of his body, staring out at the empty living room.
“Alright, well, make yourself comfortable, I guess.” It still seemed a little uncomfortable for Noah to invite anybody into his home, and you understood that. This was a safe place, this was where he could come after a long day and feel secure, and so introducing someone else to that little perimeter of safety was always going to be worrying, and you glanced over at the couches, noting the neat fold in the top of each one, presumably done by Stiles in a fit of anxious cleaning. “I’m going to go and clean up a little. Plates are in the cupboards.”
He was scratching at his skin again, patches of dried oil and grease on his skin leaving red marks in their wake as he scratched it away, and you weren’t all that surprised, the thought alone was making you feel itchy. “Take your time, I’ll be fine here.”
He nodded, hesitating for only a second longer, before moving away, and his bedroom door closed. Putting the two large bags down on the kitchen counters, you started up the sink, washing your hands under it, and using a good lathering of soap to strip the oil from your wrist that had been smeared there.
Drying them off on a towel, the sounds of water thundering down on the base of a bathtub was loud for you to hear, even through the thick wooden door. Hanging your jacket up on the racks and taking off your shoes, your toes wiggled against the hardwood floors, still feeling slightly out of place in a home you didn’t know all that well, yet. He was humming, to a song you vaguely recognised but the lyrics were escaping you, and you placed two large dinner plates down on the counter.
Grabbing two glasses, you took the bundle over to the coffee table, setting them down with coasters and laying them out, before retrieving the bags. Opening everything up slowly, and peeling back the double-wrapped paper and foil that was keeping it all warm, steam curling out into the air on the other sides of your fingers. Spicy and sweeter smells filled the air, and as you began to lay it all out as best you could, the door clicked open.
At the sound, the first place your head went to was the bathroom, but the door was still locked, the humming on the other side continued, and light from under the door was spilling out. Instead, there was scuffling to the directions of the front door, and your head whipped around.
“Jeez, Stiles, you gave me a heart attack.”
He shrieked, hand clutched over his chest as he looked up from his phone, eyes wide for a second, before his gaze fixed on you. “You gave me a heart attack!” He wandered over, eyes rapidly finding all of the food you had laid out, and picky fingers reached down to pick up a spring roll, taking a bite from the end. He cursed at the heat, hot fillings spilling out onto his tongue. He chewed despite it, puffing out hot air like a dragon and you cringed at the way he acted, wondering why he was the twin who’d somehow managed to snag a long-term relationship. “This is super romantic, and all, but you know I’m gay, right?”
“Shut up, this isn’t for you, so make the most of that spring roll because you’re not getting any more!” You slapped at the back of his hand when he reached for another, while holding the other between his teeth, and he flipped you off as he pulled back.
“Fine, fine. Where’s my brother, anyway?”
“He’s in the shower.”
Stiles swallowed the mouthful he had, his eyes flicking over the dinner plates, and the meal you had, before going to the bathroom door, and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit, are you and my brother doing it?”
“What? No.” You glanced back, noting how it all seemed when you took it all in, and your eyes went wide. “What! No! Stiles!”
“Noah.” Came a grumbled voice, and your cheeks warmed when you looked back towards the corridor. With a fresh set of clothes on, water soaking through in a few patches and he was rubbing a towel over his head.
“Stiles.” You insisted, and Noah’s head came up, catching sight of his brother, and a friendly smile graced his features. Dropping the towel he’d been using on his hair to the kitchen counter, the slightly-taller met his brother in the middle.
“Hey, Sti. What are you doing back?”
“Interrupting something, apparently,” Stiles smirked, and you rolled your eyes at him, meaning back in the couch cushions to hide your discomfort. “I came back to get my phone charger.”
“You drove all the way back here for a phone charger?” Stiles was already walking away, disappearing into his bedroom to get the cable, and you turned to Noah. He only shrugged, placing down the hoodie that he had slung over his other arm, leaving it on the back of the couch, before Stiles reappeared.
“Der has one of those Samsung Galaxy thingies. I have an iPhone. They ain’t compatible.” Stiles sighed, and you chuckled at him. Leaning over the edge of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, ruffling his brother’s wet hair, before heading back towards the door. Turning on his heel and walking backwards, he winked at the pair of you as Noah settled onto the couch beside you, both staring at the flannel-clad boy in the doorway. “Have fun on your date.”
Your mouth opened, a protest ready on the tip of your tongue, but the door was slamming again, and you huffed out the breath instead. Noah stared out at the food, his eyes scanning over everything, and you realised that he was worried about what Stiles had said. “I couldn't find the cutlery drawer.”
“What?” His attention was on you, it was enough of a distraction to drag his focus to you, and you smiled.
“Knives and forks. I couldn't find your cutlery drawer.”
“Oh.” He hummed, settling back into the cushions for a second, before snapping up to his feet, taking the action. “Oh! Right, yeah, ‘course. It’s all in that drawer that gets kinda’ stuck.” You followed him, a drawer that was so stuck you thought it was just a decorative drawer front, and it rattled loudly as he yanked it open. Plucking two sets of knives and forks, and a couple of spoons for serving up, he came back over. There were two pairs of chopsticks inside, and you snapped the wood apart, laying a set across the tips of each plate. As he sat, he took the hoodie he’d left, laying it across his lap, and putting down the utensils. “I brought you this. I thought it might be a bit more comfortable than wearing denim all evening.”
“You’re letting me borrow a hoodie? Your hoodies always look so soft!” You took the fabric from him, the zip on the front undone, and you shuffled forward to perch on the edge of your seat to pull it on. The oversized material on his broad shoulders was hanging over the edge of yours a little, and long sleeves were picked through where his thumb would go, but your index finger could slip through that patch instead, and you pulled it close around yourself.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, always. I hope it’s a weird question, those are always fun.” You turned back to him, watching as he scooped out a portion of rice onto his plate in order to avoid your eye as he searched for his word. You began to dish up your own food, peeling open the tub of sweet and sour sauce.
“What’s your favourite kind of frog?”
You beamed, the soft laugh you made gaining you a quick glance from him, and there was a smirk on his face. “I like those tree frogs with the poisonous secretions that tribespeople scrape off to make those fatal blow-dart things.”
“You answered that suspiciously fast. Who the fuck has a favourite frog?”
“I have a favourite lizard too, but it’s my turn to ask a question.” He nodded his head, swapping containers with you as he reached for something else, and you took the spoon too. “So, what was your real question?”
“Oh.” His face fell again, and you shifted closer, bumping your shoulder with him to encourage him silently, the two of you filling your plates. “I just wanted to know if us hanging out, and seeming like friends, is just for the study, or whether we’re really friends?”
“What do you want us to be, Noah?”
He tensed up slightly, clearly uncomfortable and on-edge about the question, and you gave him his time to answer. It took him a few minutes, but you were more than willing to give him that time, letting the scrapes of cutlery on porcelain and the polite crunches of food keep the silence from taking over.
“It’s not a trick-question, Noah. I just genuinely want to know what you want, so I’m not pushing any boundaries that you don’t want me to cross.”
“Okay, well, I don’t think I just want to be a lab rat to you. I like hanging out with you, you don’t make me feel so nervous anymore, in fact, you kinda’ make me feel at ease when I get overwhelmed by other people. I like how I feel around you, so, I don’t want to lose that.” He stabbed aggressively at a dumpling on his plate, using it to stop any more words from spilling out as he stuffed the whole of it between his cheeks, and it was clear that when he was really being himself, or had other things on his mind, he was just as messy and reckless an eater as Stiles was. “But, if you don’t want to be friends with me, or even act like we knew each other after this, then I’d totally get it. I’m not exactly anyone’s top choice for a friend, and you have a lot of friends, you don’t need anymore, when I don’t even have anything to offer anyway-”
You knelt up, taking his head in your hands, and pressing a kiss to his forehead, damp strands of hair brushing your nose as you gave him the same calming gesture he’d given you not so long prior. “Now who's rambling, huh?”
“Too much time with you, obviously.” He whispered, smiling when you sank back down to sit before him, and he reached his fingers up, two brushing lightly along his hairline where your lips had been. “Thanks. I was freaking out a bit.”
“I could tell, but you don’t need to. I’m not leaving until you actually tell me to.”
“Okay. Good.” He slowed the eating of his food, the half-chewed dumpling that had been pocketed in his cheeks like a hamster as the diversion failed him was returning, and he faced the TV for a second, lips pulled din half of a cocky smile a second later. “My friends have been asking about you. I think you need to kick their asses online again and remind them of your crowning victory.”
“Absolutely I will. Long live the queen.” He laughed softly at the joke, eyes flickering over your face as you turned to him, and there was a gleam in his eyes that you only ever saw when he let you get this close. It was a spark that was often extinguished by fear when others came around, but ignited when he was comfortable, and you were glad you got the privilege of knowing him when he truly let his guard down.
