Distance Feels Safer

Eli had always liked control. That was what made him organized, precise, and reliable. He liked knowing where he stood, what he felt, and what to expect.

Noah had upended that.

Since the café incident, Eli had been avoiding him. Not ignoring him completely—he was too aware for that—but keeping a careful distance, speaking in clipped sentences, avoiding eye contact whenever he could.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than he wanted to admit.

 

 

That afternoon, Eli arrived early at the library. He took the corner spot by the window, far from Noah, even though it meant less natural light and a worse view. His bag was neatly arranged, his notebooks stacked, everything in order. Perfect control. Safe distance.

Noah arrived ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t comment. He just opened his laptop, giving Eli space.

Eli kept his head down, pretending he was completely absorbed in his work. But he felt Noah’s presence. Every breath, every slight movement made his chest tighten.

He hated that.

 

 

After a while, Noah nudged his pen slightly against Eli’s notebook—an accidental brush, or so it seemed. Eli flinched, startled.

“Sorry,” Noah murmured, though his eyes twinkled, like he was testing the water.

Eli gritted his teeth. “It’s fine,” he muttered, forcing his tone to stay neutral.

Noah said nothing more, but he didn’t move away either. He stayed, a quiet presence, teasing Eli’s emotions in ways Eli refused to name.

Eli forced himself to write, to focus, but every word on the page seemed distant. His thoughts returned again and again to Noah: the way his smile had lingered in his mind, the warmth of his hand brushing against Eli’s, the softness in his voice. Each memory pulled at him, and each one left him more unsettled.

He hated it. He hated that he felt it. He hated that he couldn’t stop.

 

 

Hours passed in tense silence.

When Noah leaned over to check a reference on Eli’s screen, their shoulders brushed. Eli stiffened, heart racing. He pulled back just enough to create distance but not so much that Noah would notice—or maybe that was the problem.

Noah paused mid-gesture. His gaze lingered on Eli for a second too long. That small look, subtle as it was, hit Eli like a jolt. He hated it. He hated that it affected him so much. He hated the way his mind immediately imagined Noah leaning closer, whispering something to him, laughing softly.

Eli pressed his lips together, forcing himself to focus on the spreadsheet before him. Anything but Noah.

 

 

By mid-afternoon, Eli was mentally exhausted. Every glance, every movement from Noah sent his chest twisting painfully. He decided to pack up first. Maybe if he left, he could stop thinking. Maybe he could regain some control.

But he didn’t leave before Noah.

Noah stood quietly beside him, not rushing, not pressing. He waited for Eli to zip his bag, adjust his notebooks, and straighten his chair. Then he offered a small, careful smile.

“See you tomorrow?” Noah asked softly.

Eli’s throat tightened. He wanted to say no. He wanted to leave, to run, to create distance before his feelings could surface. But instead he muttered, “Yeah.”

 

 

The walk back across campus was silent. Each step felt heavy, as if the pavement were pressing down on him. He kept his gaze on the ground, trying to ignore the proximity of Noah’s steps beside him.

Every instinct told him to pull away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop noticing.

Eli hated that he was jealous. Hated that he cared when Noah laughed at someone else’s joke, when he smiled at someone else’s comment, when he leaned slightly closer to another classmate. Each time, Eli’s chest clenched painfully.

He hated that it hurt. He hated that it made him want to step closer and yet step away at the same time.

He hated that he couldn’t control it.

 

 

That evening, Eli sat at his desk in his dorm, staring at his notes. The spreadsheet they had been working on seemed meaningless. His mind replayed every accidental touch, every glance, every soft laugh from Noah.

He hated that he wanted to remember. He hated that he wanted to hear it again.

His phone buzzed. A message from Noah: Did you make it back okay?

Eli stared at it. His thumb hovered over the screen. He wanted to reply. He wanted to type: I… I’m fine. Missed you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he typed a curt: Yeah. Made it back.

He stared at the message for a long moment before hitting send. He hated how small it was. Hated how distant. Hated how much he wanted to write more.

 

 

The next day, Eli tried to avoid Noah even more. He took a different route to the library, chose a seat farther away, and even wore headphones preemptively to block him out.

But Noah found him anyway.

Sliding into the seat across from him, he said nothing about the headphones, nothing about the distance Eli had created. He just opened his laptop, calm, patient, still close enough to unsettle Eli completely.

Eli wanted to leave. He wanted to explode, to push him away, to admit the way his chest ached every time Noah existed near him. But he didn’t.

And then it happened.

A stack of textbooks fell over as Eli reached for a pen. Noah bent down to help, their hands brushing again. Longer this time. Eli’s breath hitched. He felt heat rush through his chest, his cheeks burning. He wanted to pull away violently, but instead, he froze.

Noah’s hand lingered, light and careful. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Eli shook his head, unable to meet his eyes. “I… yeah. Fine,” he muttered, voice tight.

He hated himself for lying. He hated that his body responded before his brain. He hated that he couldn’t just act normal, act rational. He hated that he wanted Noah to stay close. He hated that he was falling.

Noah didn’t push. He just let his hand drop, returning the books to their place. But the quiet pressure lingered in Eli’s mind. The memory of the touch burned, leaving him unsettled, confused, and painfully aware of what he felt but refused to admit.

 

 

By the time they left the library, Eli’s chest ached with tension. He wanted to run. He wanted to tell Noah everything and also push him away at the same time.

He didn’t know how to handle it. He didn’t know how to stop feeling it. He didn’t know how to tell himself that wanting Noah, feeling this way, was okay—or if it even was.

And yet, he knew he couldn’t stop.

Noah, as always, seemed to notice. But he said nothing. He just walked quietly beside Eli, steady, patient, impossible to ignore, and somehow the most comforting and painful thing Eli had ever experienced.