The events that took place yesterday:

1. I beat up the guy who beat up Noah

2. Noah finds out about it

3. Noah is angry but then hugs me

4. Noah hugs like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and it’s wonderful but incredibly sad

5. Noah actually interacts with the guys and begins to accept the friendships being offered to him

6. Noah has an interaction with Jack Nuwborn and questions why I don’t want to hook up with him

7. Noah flirts with me?

8. Noah flirts with me

9. Noah suddenly has a great need to shower and stays in there for an hour

10. Noah is silent for the rest of the night. 

I have to make a list in my head because something isn’t adding up.

When we woke up, he seemed normal. We went for our newly established run together. It was nice. But I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday. I still can’t.

At dinner, I feel his thigh brush against mine. I look at his profile as he talks to Jerome about how height can be a real disadvantage in a fight. Jerome argues that it’s better to be larger in a fight. Wade interjects and asks Noah if he’s feelings are hurt because he's small.

“Guys, he’s not that small,” Terry says in his defense.

Because he wasn’t. He had to be around six feet and probably weighed at least one-eighty. We just all were far larger than that. Especially Jerome.

“Thanks, Terry. Jerome, you’re just freakishly large.”

“In a real fight, my size would be killer.”

“In a real fight, your size would not matter.”

“You’ve fought for real before?”

“Underground fights,”

We all stop chewing our food. Of course, I had known this but I didn’t expect him to talk about it now.

“Oh come on, is it that surprising?” Noah doesn’t seem to be that self-aware of his innocent demeanor.

“Dude, you don’t seem like the type who would partake in such things.”

“Yeah well, I needed the money.” But he doesn’t say that convincingly. It wasn’t the reason he fought. Or, it wasn’t the only reason. There was something else.

“Damn. What was it like?”

“Chaos. There aren’t any rules. Well, you aren’t allowed guns, but everything else goes.”

The memory of his bare upper body flashes through my mind. The scars. My hands form fists.

“Fuck, you could bring knives?”

“You had to if you wanted to live.”

I think about leaving so I don’t have to hear about this. It hurts too much. But I don’t move. He seems to be okay talking about this and I was happy he was comfortable with all of us.

“Have you ever been stabbed?”

“Many times.”

“Damn, ever almost die?”

I brace myself for an unsurprising, “Many times.”

And suddenly, or I guess not so suddenly because I always want to, I feel the urge to pull him close, holding him in my arms, protecting him, making sure no one can ever hurt him again.

“Have you ever killed someone in a fight?”

“No,” he looks uncomfortable and slightly in panic.

“Noah, let’s go back,” I say as I stand up.

Wade whines and says. “We were talking about something.”

Noah looks at me, conflicted if he should listen to me. But when I don’t break eye contact from him, face unmoving and stern, he nods and says, “Yeah, okay.”

The other guys groan and mumble some shit but I don’t care. I can’t handle seeing him in distress. Though, I wonder if it’s just that I can’t handle hearing him talk about that kind of stuff. Not in front of everybody, at least.

We walk back to the room silently. Not for any reason, just, it was nicer to talk without people listening. A few guys I’m friendly with walk past us and I say the typical “hi, how are you,” stuff. I make a point to introduce Noah. They smile at him, though, I can tell they are uneasy about him. Newcomers weren’t very trusted. Trust had to be earned around here. 

When we are in the room, Noah asks me, “Why did you want to go back early?”

“No reason, why did you listen?”

He thinks for a moment and says, “If you couldn’t tell, I always listen to you.”

I smile, thankful he was aware that he was doing that. “Yeah, I know.”

I slump into my bed and pull out my phone, head resting against my headboard.

I begin to go through all my notifications when the bed dips and Noah slides next to me. He pulls out his phone too. And now, we’re just both lying down in my bed, casually on our phones. I want to comment on this sudden closeness but I fear that if I do, he might leave.

“Should I post this?” He says as he shows me a picture of him in a fighter’s stance, shirtless, body slightly sweaty.

“Who-who took that?”

“This guy I met. He came up to me after training and told me he took my picture. I asked him for it. You know, for the ‘gram.” He stares at the picture, a slight amused smile on his face from using that phrase.

“What’s the guy's name?”

“Kennedy something, not sure. He’s a second-year CAU.”

I make a note to find this Kennedy guy to suggest that he doesn’t take pictures without asking first. But, I really wanted to look at that picture more so I say, “Yeah, post it.”

“You do it.” He hands me his phone and I take it and open the app.

My body stills as he leans his head against my shoulder, watching me post. I have to refrain from throwing down the phone and flipping on top of him. Just friends, I remind myself. 

I post the picture with the caption, “It’s hot in here.”

Satisfied, Noah takes his phone back. He shifts his body so that his head rests on top of my chest. There’s nothing scandalous about it, he’s just comfortable. I, on the other hand, am having a very difficult time not getting aroused. For one thing, it had been far too long since I’ve had sex, and for another, it was Noah touching me. But the more I think about how we are lying in bed together, the more I feel my pants tightening. I think about putting a pillow over my arousal but I think that would only draw more attention to it.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” I say abruptly, sitting up, and storming towards it. Fuck. I shut the door and lean against the counter, feeling not so great about jerking off while he was right there. But my dick was fully hard and it was not comfortable.

But then I thought about texting someone to hook up with, perchance getting Noah out of my system. At least for tonight. But who would I text? Obviously, there’s Nuwborn but he’d talk and I really don’t want that. There’s Pete but I truly think he’s a terrible person. Then again, this would be strictly physical.

So I text him: meet me in track shed in 5

Thirty seconds later: k

I try to make myself less revealed and step out of the bathroom. Noah is still lying on my bed and I wonder if he was waiting for me to join him. I think about doing that but my dick is practically throbbing and it’s painful.

“Heading out for a bit.” I turn to leave.

“Oh. Where?”

“Out,” and I leave, letting him think whatever he wants to think that means. 

Noah

Okay, maybe it was a mistake to lie down next to him.

But I was feeling vulnerable from the information that I disclosed to the guys and being close to him always seems to make me feel safer.

But when I laid my head on his chest, he seemed to stiffen up. He just got up, went to the bathroom, and then left not answering where he was going. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

I think about the possible places he could be going and there’s really only one thing I could think of; he’s going to hook up with someone. So he left me to go have sex. I let that sink in. I let it hurt even though it has no reason to do so.

I try to distract myself by browsing Instagram.

The comments on my most recent post have been crazy. Maybe I shouldn’t have posted that. It wasn’t a particularly good picture but the guys told me to post a shirtless picture. I read through some new comments:

Hot af

You sexy

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Time and place  

Most of them are from girls but there are some from guys. I click on their profiles. But it just…it isn’t the same. So I go to Ten’s profile and look through more of his pictures. He’s so…

The door bursts open and Ten walks in rather disheveled. I didn’t realize how long it had been. He stares at me still lying in his bed.

“Oh, sorry. I got distracted. I’ll move.” And he doesn’t say anything so I get up and go to change for bed.

It was hotter than usual tonight, so I put on the bare minimum: boxers. I begin to do my nightly stretches, something I have done for years, when Ten grunts and leaves again.

“Hey-“ but he’s already gone.

A little over an hour later he comes back with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and milk. He shoves them at me and says, “Got something for you.”

“What the- why?” Nothing about this night made sense.

He shrugged and said, “Can’t a guy get his friend cookies?”

“Not without a reason,” I argue as I take a bite of the cookie, which is surprisingly warm, followed by a sip of milk.

“Well, I was in the kitchens and thought you probably like cookies so I made some.”

“Ten, do you realize how crazy that sounds?”

“What?”

“It’s the middle of the night and you go out and bake cookies? How are you even allowed to use the kitchen?”

“I like baking and I have access to everywhere on campus because I made a copy of the master key.”

“How do you not hear how insane that sounds?”

“Well, okay maybe it is weird but just enjoy the cookies. You didn’t eat that much during dinner.”

“Stop mothering me.”

“I don’t think I will. How are the cookies? I was right, wasn’t I? Chocolate chip is your favorite.”

“Yes but that’s most people. They’re amazing,” I say with my mouth full.

He smiles proudly, “Yes, well, I should shower.”

“How was?”

“Hm?”

“Your little outing before, how was that?” I try to sound chill and not like I’m dying to know.

“Oh. Fine. Uneventful.”

“You know, if you ever want to use our room, just ask. I can leave so you don’t have to risk getting caught.”

He stares at me for far too long, shocked by my presumption. But then he grins a little and says, “Actually, if you could leave now that would be great.”

“Ha.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m not going to ask you to leave every time I want to hook up with somebody. First, that would mean you would know every time I hooked up with someone and I can’t have that. Second, I’m not an asshole.”

“Okay, I’m just saying, I don’t mind.”

“Well, then I extend the same offer to you.”

I feel blood rush to my face, “I don’t-“

“I’m kidding. Sort of.” He begins to take off his clothes to shower.

“Do you ever respond to Instagram comments?”

“Depends. You got a lot, didn’t you? It’s always the shirtless pictures.”

“Yeah, it’s actually really overwhelming.”

“Oh poor you, the pain of being unbearably attractive.”

I go very still. My mind locks on to what he just said. He seems to not have noticed, or perhaps, he doesn’t care. Unbearably attractive? That’s not something I would call myself. That’s not something I’s think someone who looks like Ten would ever say about me. Think about me. Does he think I’m attractive? Ten thinks I’m attractive? Does that mean he’s attracted to me? No, just because he likes guys doesn’t mean he likes me. Like? Why did I go there? Attraction isn’t the same thing as liking someone.

Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Maybe he didn’t even mean anything by it. Maybe he didn’t even mean it.

“I reply to the ones I want to. Simple as that. So for instance, if it was a hot guy— or I guess girl in your case, maybe I’d give a little something back, you know?”

“Well actually, I’m-“

“But not too much. Keep them wanting more, right?” He winks at me, and heads into the bathroom. I hear the shower go on and slowly finish the cookies he made for me.

He baked me cookies?

He baked me cookies.

Who the fuck bakes cookies?

I guess Ten does.

I lay on my bed thinking.

Does Ten see me as a child? As someone who needs protection? I don’t want him to see me that way. I want him to see me as his equal, you know, deserving of his friendship. Though, I don’t think that will ever be the case. Maybe I should just ask him if that’s how he sees me.

But when he comes out, I don’t ask. I’m too afraid to hear the truth.

We’re both in bed, lights off, when he begins to talk. “Really I made the cookies because I like to bake when I stressed. I know that’s pretty gay but I am so whatever.”

“It doesn’t have to be about being gay. Baking doesn’t have a sexuality.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Why are you stressed?”

“You know when you want something but you can’t have it?”

“Obviously.”

“No, like wanting something so badly the mere thought of not getting it feels like you’re dying?”

“Wanting something so much that everything else becomes grayscaled and nothing seems worth it anymore.”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Every second of my life…What do you want?”

“What do you want?” 

And I can’t think of a single thing to say because there is far too much. So instead I say, “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“All of it.”

“All of what?”

“All of the things I’ve never been able to have.”

“You didn’t really fight for money, did you?”

“No.”

“Do you still want to fight?”

There’s something not being said and I’m not sure if we mean the same thing but if we are, if he happens to know me that well already, I say, “It’s becoming less of an urge.” Because the more time I spend with him, the less I feel the need to put myself in harm's way just to feel something. He already makes me feel so much. He’s already given me so much.

He is silent for a minute before saying, “Good.”

“You didn’t tell me what you desire?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“What I want is everything.”

Ten

Because Noah, as impossible as it may seem, is everything.