6

NOAH MASON

The following morning started with a ringing in my head that wasn’t coming from my alarm clock.

My head throbbed as I opened my eyes, the sudden brightness that attacked me almost feeling like a crime.

“Fucking hell.”

My eyes immediately travelled to the wall clock by my bedside. It was past 7am already, my body springing up from the bed the fastest I’d gotten up in years.

“No fucking way,” I ignored the banging in my head as I tried to get across the room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

For years I’d kept a strict routine and never went against it even once. My day began at 6am and by past 7am, I should have jogged for twenty minutes, gym for thirty-five and be in the shower, getting ready to have breakfast by 7:45am and leave home exactly 8am.

But here I was at 7:25am with nothing but a blurry memory of how the previous night went by after drinking way too many bottles of alcohol.

“Fuck!”

I paused my movements, hands in my hair as I tried to figure out how to make the most of the thirty-five minutes late. I need to be in school before 9 and at the very least, that couldn’t go wrong.

“Okay, okay,” I sunk in deep breaths, taking off my shirt. “Shower first.”

My head was still aching, but my feet were already carrying me towards the door the moment my shirt was off. I headed downstairs, walking straight to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, desperately hoping it’ll at least cure my headache.

I rarely got drunk. I hated the version of me it created so unless I was heavily reminded of my father’s existence, I avoided it. But now I had found a new reason to drink. And he had made sure to leave his traces all over my kitchen.

With a very deep breath, I ignored the opened bag of chips on the counter and simply grabbed the bottle of water, reminding myself I didn’t have any more time to waste. I returned to my room, took off the last piece of clothing I had on and got into the shower.

By 7:58, I was dressed and ready to leave, my headache refusing to follow suit. With just two minutes left to spare, I was still as pissed as ever, the irritation in me growing with every step I took downstairs.

And the second I reached the living room, it hit the peak.

My memory from the previous night was still fuzzy. I could vaguely remember driving myself home and somehow, managing to climb the stairs all the way to my room before crashing on my bed. But what I didn’t remember was walking past Takumi Williams laying on my couch, probably asleep or not.

He was sprawled over the couch, legs curled, arms raised above his shoulders. By his side, there was another opened bag of chips, two cans of soda, the tv remote, a video game console and his phone, all scattered around him.

He didn’t have a shirt on, his joggers sitting a bit too low on his hips. His long hair was all over his face and the couch, his eyes and mouth firmly shut for the first time since I’d known him.

“This has to be a joke,” I glanced at the time. 8:04am. “Did he really—”

He was sleeping so peacefully it was almost disturbing. Didn’t he have classes? Classes aside, what type of hockey player slept all morning without going to the gym first?

“This is insane,” I muttered to myself, ready to leave. But my feet refused to move. I found myself frozen, watching him get even more comfortable on my couch.

I didn’t dare to look at the time again but eventually, he stirred in his sleep. His arms slowly returned to his side and with random movements, he tugged at the band of his joggers.

His movements became even more restless, his hand slipping beneath the waistband. My fingers curled as I watched the fabric shift, the outline of his hand moving beneath it faint but clear enough.

His fingers curled and the moment I watched them stop moving, I closed my eyes. But less than a second later, opened them to meet Takumi staring right at me.

My feet immediately found the floor once again, my movements quick as I crossed the living room, ready to head for the door. I could hear movements from him as he sat up, my entire plan circling around ignoring him.

“Well, good morning,” I heard him say from behind me. “What’s the rush? You didn’t seem to be in a rush earlier when you were staring at me.”

“Staring at you?” I sharply turned to face him. He was now already on his feet and as I spoke up, took two steps towards me to reduce the distance between us. “I wasn’t staring at you.”

“I was staring at the couch,” I added before words could leave his already parted lips. “Did you really spend the night on the couch?”

“Yes,” he nodded, shoving his hands into his pocket, the joggers dropping even lower beneath his waist. My gaze swept up his body as I took a step backwards, catching sight of a tattoo by his shoulder. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Yes, there is,” I looked away from his shoulders to look at him directly in the eyes. “The mess you made in the kitchen, the mess you made here— there is a problem with all of it.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mason.”

“Noah,” I hissed, glaring at him. I’d never had a problem with anyone calling me Mason but hearing it from him ticked me off in ways I couldn’t explain. “It’s Noah.”

“Okay, Noah,” he crossed his arms across his chest and I suddenly wasn’t sure I preferred him calling me that. It had to be the first time he called me by my name and whether I wanted it to ever happen again was a mystery I refused to solve. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to live in this house,” the mere thought was still infuriating. “Then there are going to be rules set in place. Strict boundaries you need to follow.”

“You mean like a timetable?”

“What? A timetable?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “No. An actual list of things you are not allowed to do.”

“Yeah, so a timetable,” he ran his hands through his hair. “But instead of it being a bunch of things I can do with stipulated time, it’s a bunch of things I cannot do regardless of the time.”

My mouth opened in disbelief. I watched him simply raise his brows then take a step backwards, his hair falling to his face as he moved.

I pressed my lips together then continued. “I’m going to make a list of rules I’ll need you to abide by as long as we live together. You should compile yours too so we can work on it and both stick to our rules.”

“I don’t really have any rules in mind,” he was clearly indecisive as he took another step closer. “Or boundaries that needs to be followed or anything. I’m pretty easy to live with.”

“Good, as it should be,” I nodded. “I’ll create my list and hand it over to you. But before that, no half-eaten bag of chips on my counter or anywhere else. And yes, no spending the night on the couch.”

“Okay.”

I turned around, ready to leave the house. My phone vibrated in my pocket, a thought striking my mind immediately.

“You also can’t have girls over,” I didn't wait for the thought to settle as I turned to face him again. “And in case you still need me to add, making out with them on my couch is strictly forbidden.”

“How about guys over then?”

“Excuse me?” The words blurted out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“I mean, I’m throwing a party here this weekend,” he shrugged. “So, if I can’t have girls over then can I at least invite the guys? Maybe we won’t make out on the couch that way?”

I stared at him. This time, for a long while, watching how his expression changed with every couple of seconds that passed.

Initially, he looked entertained, like he was enjoying the whole conversation. Then his lips stopped curling into that smirk, his whole body visibly relaxing as he resorted to doing nothing but stare at me.

“I forgot to add,” I took a step towards him. He didn’t move but I watched the band of his joggers drop lower. “Parties aren’t allowed.”

I didn’t wait to get a reaction or another word from him. I turned around and without stopping this time, walked out of the house.

“Fucking hell,” I groaned the moment I got into my car and glanced at the time. “Eight fucking twenty a.m.”