Noah

“So where are you going to have your hookups now that you share a room?”

I try to focus on my book. I had to finish this chapter before class and I kept getting distracted. But even me holding the book was causing a lot of unwanted feelings. When Ten handed me the Kaplan book in the morning, I was taken aback. I didn’t think he would remember that I needed to read it. He handed it to me wordlessly and I wondered if he already had it in his room.

“Everyone else shares a room and seems to do make do,” the control I need to not look up from my book is excruciating. I try to refocus on the words of the book, but this is far more interesting.

When he told me that he had gotten permission for me to room with him, I wasn’t happy. No, that’s not it. I wasn’t not happy, I was scared. But I didn’t tell him that. I just smiled and said, “Thanks.”

“Besides, I think I’m going to cool it this year.” I furrow my brows, attempting to look like I’m reading and not fully invested in this conversation.

“Bullshit. You, Ten, celibate? Load of crap.” Terry takes a bite of his scrambled egg, shaking his head as he does so.

“Why not? You both are.”

“Not by choice.” Wade points out.

“Yeah, if there were girls here, I wouldn’t be sexually frustrated enough to consider swinging the other way for a bit.”

“Terry, that’s not how it works. You can’t “consider” a different sexuality.

“I didn’t mean turning gay, I meant just having a bit of fun with another being.” I can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. He doesn’t sound like he is but what he’s saying is ridiculous.

“Wouldn’t be fun if you weren't attracted to the person.” Ten sounds annoyed.

“Noah, have you ever had sex with a guy?” Terry asks casually and I almost choke.

“No,” I say because it’s the truth. I don’t look at their facial expressions.

“Why not? A hand’s a hand, a mouth’s a mouth, and a hole’s a hole. Nothing more to it.”

Ten scoffs and says, “you sound like a complete douche.” I really have to hold back from verbalizing my agreement. 

“At least I don’t have to use one.” The quip comes to me as a shock and I can’t help but look up at Ten’s reaction. His eyes were wide, face slightly amused at the bordering homophobic comment.

“Neither do I.”

“You’ve never?” I give up on trying to read but I still pretend to be engrossed in my book.

“Well I didn’t say that, did I?” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to control my facial reactions.

“What? You’ve never told us about that!” I want to laugh at how truly hurt Wade sounds.

“I’m not going to discuss my sex-life with you guys.”

“Must have been terrible.”

“Not at all. Quite enjoyable. But everyone has their preferences.” I shift awkwardly in my seat. This conversation was too much.

“You need to finish your food. You haven’t touched it.” It takes me a moment to process that Ten as talking to me.

“Someone is being motherly.” Terry mumbles.

“Shut up. Noah, eat.”

And because I can’t seem to not, I do what he says.  

Ten

I watch as Noah assesses the room. He’s doing some calculations in his head.

“There?” He points to the far right.

“Yeah? Whatever you want.”

We had been trying to figure out where to put his bed. The General has sent orders for a bed to be brought up to my room but we hadn’t been able to figure out where to put it. It was a smaller bed than mine, as mine was a full while his was a twin.

My bed was on the far left, lining the wall. We picked up the bed together, though, it wasn’t so heavy, and moved it to where he had pointed. Apart of me wanted to say, “you know what? Just push our beds together,” but I was saner than that. Probably.

I watch him put linen on the bed and I wish I didn’t find it sexy. But his white shirt clung to him in a way that it moved when he did. I watched as his muscles shifted through his shirt. And then, I took in the way his hair brushed against his face. The way he shook it out of his way. Then, I thought about how he wasn’t actually into guys. I try to convince myself that it’s okay and that being his friend is enough.

When he finishes making his bed, he stands awkwardly and it makes me nervous that perhaps he wasn’t happy about this arrangement.

“I haven’t ever shared a room with anyone. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.” I try to stimulate some kind of conversation.

“Oh? No, it doesn’t. I mean, it does but not because- I mean, I just feel bad for intruding on your space. You must have had your own room for a reason.”

“I was the one who asked for this. Don’t worry, just want you to be happy, is all.”

He looks at me with sad eyes and says, “I don’t get that.”

“You don’t get what?”

“Why you care.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

His hesitation stings a bit. “We are?” A lot.

“Yes, don’t be ridiculous.” 

He smiles and I realized it wasn’t that he didn’t see me as a friend, it’s that he didn’t know if I saw him as a friend. The realization made me ask, “you’re a pretty insecure guy, huh?” It was probably not the right thing to say.

“It’s not really that. I’m just not sure what reason someone would want to be my friend, let alone someone like you…” he trails off, a bit embarrassed with what he just said.

“Like me?”

“Popular?”

“I’m not popular.”

“I mean, that’s just not true.”

“Not everyone likes me.”

“Doubt it, and besides, that doesn’t have much to do with popularity.”

“You think everyone likes me?”

He nods as he says, “Yeah.”

“I can give you a list of guys that do not like me.”

“Sure, but what’s their reason?” He seems to be implying something but I’m not completely sure what.

“I might have not put out and you know how guys are…so…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.

He rolls his eyes and says, “right, that doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does.”

“No. Not liking someone because you want to have sex with them and they don’t doesn’t count. That’s just immature horny guy things.”

“I guess. Still means they don’t like me.”

“But if you go and offer yourself to any one of them, I’m sure they would change their mind.”

“I’m not sure-“

“Do it, then.”

“What?”

“Text one of them and see what happens.”

I feel a weird pull in my chest. He wants me to text another guy? I wish he didn’t.

“But I don’t want to do anything with them. That’s why they don’t like me in the first place.”

“I didn’t say actually do something with them. Just text them something and see how quickly they reply. If it’s within a few minutes, that shows that they obviously don’t actually not like you.”

I guess it made sense. I wouldn’t text a person I didn’t like back that quickly. So I shrugged and pulled up a contact I hadn’t used in a year. Pete Loer. We had hooked up before and while it was good, he was a jerk. I could ignore it once, but after a few times, I lost interest. I couldn’t separate the man from the sex.

I text him: Hey

I hold my phone to Noah, showing him the text, and he starts laughing. I turn around to look at what he was laughing at and it was a reply from Pete that said DTF again?

“I told you.” He’s smiling and for that reason only, I’m smiling too.

“Well, now what?”

“I don’t know? Are you dtf?” He’s still laughing.

“Maybe.” I don’t mean it but I say it to see his reaction.

He stops laughing and says, “Okay, well I’m sure you don’t need my help with that,” and picks up his book and begins to read it. He didn’t seem mad or anything, just kind of…neutral. 

I text Pete back saying: Just wanted to ask a q

I get a reply back saying: Nah

I nod, unsurprised at his answer. I look up to see Noah frowning at me. Not aggressively but there was some disdain in his eyes.

“You good?”

He blinks, goes slightly red, and says, “Sorry.”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Okay.” 

And it was weird because there was something missing in this conversation. It didn’t make sense. The tension remains until he asks, “Do you have an ulterior motive?”

I laugh and say, “That’s a dumb question.”

“Why?”

“Because if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. That kind of defeats the purpose of an ulterior motive, doesn’t it?”

He looks at me blankly and says, “I’m good at telling if someone is lying.”

“Fine. An ulterior motive to what?”

“Being nice to me. Being my…friend.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course I do.”

He assesses my face and says, “I think you’re lying.”

“Great. There’s your answer.”

“But-“

“Noah, you fucking listen to me. I am nice to you because I like you. I like talking to you. I like hanging out with you. So stop this insecure bullshit and just let me like you.”

He’s taken aback by how angry I have become. But I was at my wit's end with him not believing that I just wanted to be his friend. That’s not all you want, I remind myself. 

I watch him look down, ashamed. And I know I was just made but now I feel like apologizing. I don’t let myself because I wasn’t sorry. He needed to hear it and I don’t think it I said it nicer it would have gotten through to him.

“I’ve never had a friend.”

“You what?”

“I’ve never had someone I call a friend. The kids at the orphanage thought I was weird and they didn’t like me. Probably because I was too quiet. I’m not sure. But I was in Westford for most of my life. I don’t even know how to have a friend.” I wondered then if what I felt the first time I saw him was something close to recognition. That look in his face, the pain he held in his eyes, could it have been something I saw in myself?

“I wouldn’t mind teaching you.” It was all I could say and quite honestly, it was all I needed to say.

He smiles gently, teeth not showing, the kind of smile that is meant to be shy and sweet. “Thank you.”

We’re both sitting on our beds and I so badly wanted him to come over to mine. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that could make me feel closer to him. “So what do you think of SFAMS?”

“I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

“The point of the school.”

“Yeah, what’s the point?”

“To train those who have presented superior skills.”

“Train for what?”

“To fight for our country.”

“Everyone eventually goes to the army?”

“No. Some are transferred to special forces.” The strain in my voice is probably more telling that I’d like it to be.

“What do special forces do?”

“A lot of things. Some are spies and go abroad and infiltrate foreign government.”

“Does it scare you?”

“I’m not sure.” But I was. I am truly terrified of leaving the school. Noah might not have had any friends, but I’ve never had a real life. How am I supposed to go out and about as if I had lived a typical life?

“Why not?” 

“Because I have been training my entire life. But I have also never been in the real world.”

“You’ve never been outside the school?”

“Once. But it was short. Business trip.”

“So how do you have so many followers on Instagram?”

“Noah, have you been stalking me?”

“No I just, I was looking, I didn't-“

“I’m joking. Didn’t know you have an Instagram.” I could watch him stumble on his words for days but I felt merciful. 

“I don’t really. Never post.” He’s so red I begin that I begin to feel bad.

“You should.” I think about having a place just with pictures of Noah.

“You never answered the question.”

“Right. Um, I don’t know. The internet is a mysterious place.”

“So you thirst trap.”

“Precisely.”

And then we both laugh and it feels natural and wonderful.

“Hey, why don’t we set up your account so you can post? Might be a good way to make friends?” While that was true, I honestly just wanted to have that place of just Noah.

“I don’t know…I don’t even have any pictures.”

“We’ll take some. Come on, give me your phone.”

He puts the book he’d been holding down and walks over to my bed and hands me his phone. It’s opened to Instagram.

“Well first, let’s set your profile picture,” I go to his camera roll, unsure what to expect. “What the fuck? You really have no pictures of yourself?”

“No, I told you that.” He stands awkwardly, the way he always does, and I say, “Fine, smile,” and hold up the camera to his face. The flash goes off and he throws his hands up.

“Wait!”

I look at the picture and chuckle. Half his face is blocked off by a blurred hand. “Fine, strike a pose or something.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

I'm reminded of the fact that he isn’t gay nor a slut like me. “Fine. Come here.” I get off my bed and point to it.

“On the bed?” He sits on my bed while I aim the camera at him.

“Yeah, now take off your shirt.”

“Not going to happen.” Dang it.

“Fine, smile.”

For a moment I don’t think he will, but he does. Not a full smile, but closed-mouth grin. I take the picture and look at it. “Perfect.” And I mean it with all my heart but he doesn’t know that.

I set it as his profile picture.

“What do you want your bio to say?”

“I have no idea. What do you think?”

“I’ve got an idea,” and I write shy guy.

I show him it and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t object to it. “Let’s get you some followers.”

I go my account and follow myself and a few other SFAM boys. I decide that the first picture I took of him was kind of artsy so I post it with the caption: @tenoutof10 took this and is also the one posting this because I’m shy. I tag myself, thinking it probably will get him some followers because he’ll be in my tagged section. I hand him back his phone, pulling out mine. He stares at his profile like it’s not even him.

“This is weird.”

“Welcome to social media, bud.”

I follow him back and like his first picture.

“Why are random people following me?”

“Because people look through my tags.”

“So many girls.” He says it in shock and something twists inside me.

“You could message them. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you.”

“Ya, but-“

“It’s getting late. I’m going to shower,” and I get up and do just that. As the water streams down, I curse myself for being such a little bitch. When I finish, I have to mindfully put on a towel before I leave. He looks up from his phone as I come out.

“I already have a hundred followers!” He sounds in awe. Of course you do. But some things aren’t meant to be said, right? 

He throws his phone on his bed and runs into the bathroom. I take the time to put on my boxers and attempt to towel-dry my hair. I get in bed before he’s done so I turn on the lights. The bathroom light should be enough light for when he comes out.

When he comes out, I pretend to be sleeping.

“Ten?” He whispers, checking to see if I’m up. When I don’t answer he sighs. I crack open my eyes and watch as his naked torso twists into a stretch. He raises an arm over his shoulder and I have to actively try not to physically react to him. He drops his towel, leaving him fully naked. He looks like a fucking sculpture. His body is different from mine. While we are both obviously in shape, he’s built softer, smaller. His shoulders aren’t as broad and his waist is thinner. He’s just so beautiful—everything about him. He shakes out his hair like a wet dog and I hold back a laugh because it’s so damn cute. He pulls up his boxers and pulls over a light t-shirt.

I watch him go on his phone for a few minutes, his facial reactions being entertainment enough, and I begin to regret telling him to use social media.

I listen to him fall asleep and when I’m positive that he’s out cold, I send a text and jump out of bed.