I unlock the door to my apartment quietly. I stayed at Aiden’s place pretty late, and I don’t know if Noah is up. Part of me thinks that he might be gone, already trying to get a ride back to Ralph’s house.

The hallway is dark and silent. I flip on the entryway light and pad into the living room, where I pause in the half-light.

“Noah?”

No answer.

I move to the kitchen and find some empty Tupperware containers left in the sink. Clearly Noah raided my fridge while I was gone and didn’t bother to clean up after himself. On the other hand, a quick check of the cabinet reveals that all the liquor bottles are still tucked away - untouched, so far as I can tell. Either he didn’t go looking for them, or he couldn’t find them.

I find him asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket taken from my armchair. Apparently he ties his black hair up into a bun, when he sleeps? He’s got his face turned into the couch, mostly hidden by the blanket, but he seems fine.

There’s a half-smoked joint in the ashtray on the coffee table. Little flakes of ash all over the table’s surface. I sigh deeply, grab the joint and lighter, and fling myself into the armchair to light up. If Noah’s staying here for free, he’s going to have to share.

Frankly, I need something to calm my frantic brain. Now that Aiden can’t distract me, I’m thinking about what he said - and what he didn’t. I could have pushed him harder to talk about it, but I don’t want to make him do or say anything he isn’t ready for.

I hold the hit in my lungs for a good long moment, then let it out. The furl of smoke drifts over to Noah, who lets out a little snore but doesn’t stir.

I’m trying to do a complicated math problem in my head, adding up years of mutual hatred, lines of my poem finding their way out of Aiden’s mouth, his eyes when he said that he wanted to find his way back to me. Him deciding that he’s serious about me, only one kiss into our relationship.

Or - before that?

The way he kissed me back that first night under the Guardian Tree, as if to say: the rest of your life starts right here. The way his hands and mouth navigate my body during these breathless moments buried in his bed, like he’s always had a map, an exact plan for where they want to go. Is that why it feels so fucking good?

Or is there just something about me and him, Maple and Linden, meant to grow at each other’s sides, roots melding together? We’ve been together for such a precious short time, and there’s so much about his life that I still don’t know, yet I feel more sure about him than I have about anyone else before.

I’ve left every previous relationship already thinking about what’s next. A little sad, yeah, but cheered at the prospect of trying something new and getting back to doing my single thing. It’s dawning on me that if Aiden and I don’t work out, it’s going to be different. Very, very different.

I’m so lost in thought that it takes me a minute to notice Noah sitting upright on the couch. We consider each other through the haze of smoke between us. He drags his good hand over his sleepy eyes, then reaches out.

I hand him the jay. He ashes it, hits it, and leans back against the couch cushions, watching me.

“Hey,” I try. He nods silently, smoke drifting from his nose. “See you left a bunch of dishes in my sink.”

“Hard to do them,” he murmurs, holding up his bandaged hand. “You’ve been gone a long time. Booty call?”

I was with my man, actually, I want to say, but it suddenly occurs to me that with everything going on I haven’t even asked Aiden if he’s out. Noah, Ralph, Grant - they’ve known him for a long time, but do they know about that part of him? He definitely wasn’t out in high school.

“What, did you miss me?” I say instead, and Noah snorts. He leans across the table to hand me back the joint, flapping smoke out of his face. The moonlight falls on his discolored eye, still badly swollen. “Your eye doesn’t look any better. It actually looks a little worse.”

“Thanks so much for that. It feels worse, too.”

“Don’t you want to like - I don’t know, see a doctor?”

“You wanna pay for that?” He lifts a hand to his eye, but thinks better of it and stops. “It’ll be fine.”

“How hard did you get hit? What if you have a blowout fracture or something?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, his voice hardening.

I want to argue with him, but I know that it’s pointless. Instead I take another hit and enjoy the gentle high starting to take hold of me, finally slowing down some of the questions spinning through my mind. I stretch out my legs and flex my toes, pull my knees up onto the armchair.

“Anyone - call you, or anything, today?” Noah asks, reaching to take the jay back.

“Grant. Once.”

Noah rubs his eye and fumbles at the coffee table. He gathers up his phone, presses a button, and stares at the screen. A moment of silence passes, and then he tosses it back onto the table with more force than strictly necessary. I don’t know him well enough to tell if this reaction means lots of calls or none at all.

“Ralph is looking for you,” I tell him. “Grant says he just wants to talk.”

Noah stubs the joint out into the ashtray, his expression hard to read. The glow at the tip illuminates his tattooed hand and then fuzzes out.

“Hmm.”

“Honestly, why is Ralph like this?” I blurt out. “Why is he so determined to get Aiden back in the group, for that matter? I know they’ve known each other since forever, but they also haven’t seen each other in eight years, and they don’t even get along anymore, so why-?”

“Ralph doesn’t like to give things up unless it’s on his own terms,” Noah answers, surprising me. I expected him to just tell me to shut up again.

“Well - okay, but you and Aiden, you guys aren’t things.”

A brief silence ensues.

“It’s fine. I’ll go back tomorrow, you won’t be getting more calls.”

“What do you mean, you’ll go back tomorrow? Back to Ralph’s house?”

He looks at me hollowly.

“Where else do you suggest I go?”

This entire conversation doesn’t really feel like the Noah I’m familiar with. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen him this low. He’s not usually serious, and definitely not interested in wasting more than a few words on me. Or is it just that he’s not fucked up out of his mind, and I’m not used to seeing him this way?

“How do you not have any money, if you’ve been helping Ralph?”

Noah frowns.

“He keeps the money in his safe, it’s like a security thing. You can’t be too careful, that line of work. We just get some from him when we need it.”

“What - he holds onto all of your money? Like, normally?”

“No, I mean - he gives - you know what?” Noah’s expression suddenly sours. “I don’t have to take this shit. Can I just fucking sleep? Honestly, Keane, you’re always talking, talking, talking. It sucks. Why won’t you learn to shut up?”

He lays out flat on the couch again, tugs the blanket over his shoulders, and pointedly rolls to face the cushions. I let out an irritated sigh and get to my feet. This sounds a lot more like the Noah I’ve known since high school.

Well, it’s fine. I need to shower and go to bed, anyways. I cross to the bathroom, tossing my flannel onto the armchair, and flip on the light switch.

All three lights over the mirror flicker on, and I stop, staring. The one in the middle hasn’t worked in forever, and I’ve tried out three different bulbs on it. My increasingly stoned brain swims hard for a minute, trying to figure out what happened. There’s only one answer I can think of.

It was Noah. He actually fixed the light.

~~~~

My mom is on the porch swing, tuning her violin. Late afternoon sunlight dashes across her long braid, brightening up the vivid red color we share. She looks up when I swing the car door shut.

“Hi, darlin’!” she calls, settling the violin under her chin and using her bow to test the sound. “I wasn’t expecting - oh, my goodness.”

She gets to her feet, tucks the violin into its case, and hurries down to meet us on the path. Rushing straight past me, she stops before Noah and takes his chin in her hand, staring at his eye. He freezes, clearly surprised.

“Oh, what happened to you, honey?” she asks sadly, and Noah blinks down at her like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Mom, this is Noah. He’s - um. A friend?”

Noah and I both sort of cringe at each other. The prospect obviously sounds distasteful to both of us.

“Noah,” my mom says approvingly. “Good name, that. Come inside, you two.”

Noah is a lot quieter when he’s not fucked up, or maybe he’s just uncomfortable, because he doesn’t say a word as my mom steers him into the house. I loop back to the car to get all the empty Tupperware containers. By the time I join them inside, my mom has him seated at the kitchen table, and she’s saying:

“Do you go to church, Noah?”

“Oh, mom, leave him alone.” I slap the Tupperware down onto the counter. “Look at him, he’s got enough going on.”

“I’m only asking,” she says innocently. “Could you get your hair out of your face, hon?”

Noah shoots me a glare across the table; it took all morning to convince him to come here, and I suspect he’s already regretting it. But he doesn’t say anything, only gathers his dark hair into a bun and fastens it with the same hair tie from last night.

“Mom! I didn’t bring him here so you can convert him. I just need you to look at his hand and eye, please.”

“Noah is the name of a man chosen by God,” my mom answers, picking up Noah’s injured hand and examining the wrappings. She smiles at him warmly. “The man chosen to ride out the storm.”

Noah hisses softly as she turns his fingers over.

“Sore,” he says.

“I’m sure. I need to take these bandages off to see what I’m working with. It’s going to hurt a little.”

“Are you a doctor, or something?”

“A nurse.” She peels back the first layer. “And retired, but I haven’t forgotten everything quite yet. Jamie, sweetie, your father is upstairs, could you - oh, these are some pretty pictures.” She examines the tattoos on Noah’s damaged hand. “Did you do these?”

He shrugs.

“Some.”

“Jamie, can you go find your father? He knows where I’ve got my kit stowed, I think I’ll need it.”

Noah shoots me a don’t-leave-me look, which I happily ignore. I could use a break from being around him, honestly. While I’ll admit that calmed down Noah is a huge improvement on unpredictable and fucked up Noah, his surly attitude is starting to seriously bug me. I pull up my early-morning chat with Aiden as I head up the stairs.

Companion Plant 🍃 7:05 AM: Everything ok???

Me 8:01 AM: Good morning❤️  Sorry, just woke up! Yes, you don’t have to worry so much

Companion Plant 🍃 8:02 AM: I think I do.

Me 8:02 AM: Have you heard this, btw? Meant to send it to you yesterday

Me 8:02 AM: Listen on Spotify - Bisexual Anthem by Domo Wilson

Companion Plant 🍃 8:02 AM: Don’t try to distract me, it’s not gonna work.

Companion Plant 🍃 8:06 AM: This song is way dirtier than I expected.

Companion Plant 🍃 8:06 AM: ….I’m saving it.

Me 8:07 AM: Lmao thought you might

Companion Plant 🍃 8:07 AM: Seriously though Jamie can you please keep me updated? My stomach is in knots.

Me 8:08 AM: Everything is ok, Noah wants to go back today, I’m just going to take him to my mom first to get his hand and stuff fixed up

Companion Plant 🍃 8:08 AM: Would it be corny if I asked you to let me know when you get there safely?

I type out a quick text as I climb the rest of the stairs: Just got him here, we are all ok!❤️ and press send just before crashing into my dad on the landing.

“Whoa, steady on, Jamie!”

“Dad! I didn’t see you.”

“Who are you texting with a smile like that on your face?”

“Oh, it’s Aiden, he, um.” I click my phone to dark and stuff it in my pocket. “He’s just worried about me.”

“Worried?” My dad’s forehead furrows. “Should I be worried?”

“I-”

I’m all prepared to tell him no, everything is fine, don’t stress - but the eerie silence from Ralph is eating at me, even though it’s only been one day of this. I’ve seen the evidence of what he’s capable of more than once, now.

My dad frowns when I hesitate. He takes my arm, guides me into the room that serves as his home office, and shuts the door after us.

“Jamie,” he says. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

And, damnit, I let it all spill. Not the stuff about Aiden, how we’re seeing each other or the Ghost Office or the hunt, but everything about Ralph and Noah. By the time I get to the end, his eyebrows are arched all the way up, and the concern on his face is apparent.

“So I just - hope this isn’t a mistake,” I finish, a little out of breath. “What do you think?”

He takes a moment of consideration before answering.

“I can’t tell you what to do. You’re grown enough to make your own choices, and you know the situation better than me. But I think you need to be careful, and keep your eyes open.”

I pause, surprised.

“Wow. I would have thought you’d say to give Noah back and let it go. Safety first, and all.”

My dad's default setting is laughing and smiling. I’m unused to seeing such a serious look on his face.

“What does your mom always say?” he asks, and I groan.

“Dad-”

“What does she always say, Jamie?”

“She says - never miss an opportunity to be kind.”

He nods.

“And what do I say?”

“But don’t take any shit.”

“Exactly,” he answers, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

Kit in hand, I rejoin Noah and my mom in the kitchen. She’s chattering away, but Noah is silent and pale-faced, his good hand clenched around a fistful of his jeans under the table. I guess whatever she’s doing hurts, but she’ll make sure he’s properly fixed up and not in danger of losing a thumb or an eye. The pain will be worth it, eventually.

“Can we go now?” Noah asks, when we get back in the car about ten minutes and a mumbled thank-you later. “I want to get to Ralph’s before it gets dark.”

I just sit there, my hands on the wheel, having a raging internal battle.

“Hey.” Noah snaps his usable fingers in my face. “Keane. Let’s get going.”

“Mmmm….” Oh, god. Fuck. For fuck’s sake. “No.”

Noah’s eyebrows shoot up.

“The fuck do you mean, no?”

“No, I - come on, man. I can’t take you back there. You can stay at mine again tonight, alright?”

He stares at me, one grey eye fixed on my face.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” is what he finally says.

“Okay, you know what? I’m at the wheel, I’m driving, I don’t care, I’m taking us back to my apartment and you can go back to sulking on the couch.”

I start the engine and pull away from the curb.

“Keane, for fuck’s sake.”

“Look, all we need is a plan. We’ll go see Aiden. He’s always the one who makes the plan. I mean, half the time they don't work, sometimes stuff starts on fire, but generally speaking, he actually has some good-”

“What the hell does that mean? Dude, turn this car-”

“Would you shut up already? Shut up and just let me help you. God! You fucking - you - you total jackass!”

There’s a brief silence, during which my ears turn red. Just as I start to feel guilty, Noah laughs.

“That’s the most I’ve ever liked you, Keane,” he says, and settles back into the seat.