~11.

[NOAH]

Noah did not start the engine immediately.

His hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers still, gaze fixed ahead—but unfocused.

The passenger seat was empty.

Apparently the boy had somewhere important to be.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

This was…unnecessary.

The lunch.

The questions.

The invitation.

“Let me treat you to lunch.” He mimicked himself.

His grip on the wheel tightened.

He did not do things like that.

Not without reason.

Not without intent.

And yet here he was.

His mind betrayed him.

Noah closed his eyes briefly.

All he wanted was to ask him why he chose this discipline, that was all.

And then his stomach made cutest sound he had ever heard.

“Focus, since when did a rumbling stomach sound cute?” he muttered to himself, opening his eyes again.

He started the car.

The drive home was quiet.

The city passing him in muted tones—buildings, people, movement—but none of it registered the way it should have.

“Being simple is quite nice too.”

Noah’s jaw flexed as he replayed their interaction in his head.

Every word.

Every pause.

Every reaction.

The way he hesitated to order, his eyes darting from one item to the other.

The avoidance of eye contact.

The way his hands trembled as he ate—slightly, but not enough for most to notice.

The way he pushed back his heavily lensed glasses up the smooth bridge of his nose.

Noah noticed.

“‘I’ manage my time carefully’ says the guy with circles so dark I could paint with it”

He thought back to they spoke about his discipline of choice.

A lie.

Or at the very least—an incomplete truth. Or an half-assed lie.

Even an idiot could tell he wasn’t being honest.

Noah turned into his driveway, the gravel crunching softly beneath his tires. The house stood exactly as he had left it—orderly, quiet.

He cut the engine.

Silence settled immediately.

Noah remained seated for a moment longer before stepping out.The door shut behind him with a soft click.Inside, the scent of cedarwood greeted him.He removed his watch first, placed it on the table.Then his keys.

He loosened the buttons of his shirt as he moved deeper into the house, shrugging off his jacket and draping it neatly over the back of a chair. He thought back to the way his lectures today went and the next topics to treat, but his mind—

It kept drifting off course and lingering on a certain person.

On a pair of eyes that did not quite stay still.

Noah stopped walking. He scoffed quietly at himself, running a hand through his hair.

“This is ridiculous.”

It was. Entirely.

He moved into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. The cool liquid did little to settle the strange heat sitting beneath his skin.

“I picked this discipline because it called out to me.”

He remembered the way his lips curved around those words,

Noah took a slow sip.

No.

That was wrong.

Very wrong,

He could tell.

Noah set the glass down and turned, heading toward his study.

The room was dim, lit only by the fading light filtering through the curtains and the low lighted chandelier hanging above. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books—annotated, categorized.

Orderliness.

He thrived in it.

But lately, they’ve been a few clogs in his wheel of routine.

Noah pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for a file without looking and began going through it.

Noah closed the file.

He couldn’t concentrate.

Not with two albinos racing around in his head. One was like a skittish little kitten and the other a brazen minx whose lips, so soft he felt the need to bite and bruise them, he couldn’t seem to get out of his head.

The world really knew how to test him.

Enough.

He groaned and stood, moving back into the main room.

He needed to reset.

A shower and sleep will do him some good, but as he passed the mirror he froze—his reflection stared back at him.on his neck and collarbone sat fading patches of pink.

Memories of a particular heterochromatic albino wounding around him like a snake and unraveling him. Lips wandering his skin, leaving heat and marks in his trail.

“Fuck” he rasped out. He was hard.