The noise isn’t too bad where I’m taking him, but I can tell his nerves are frayed, and it hasn’t even been five minutes since he arrived. So, after he sits down, I tell him I’ll be right back and head to the locker room to get something from my backpack, then I jog back before I can talk myself out of it.
He looks up when I stop in front of him, eyes flicking to my face, then down to my hands. “Hey,” I say, my stomach twisting at how pale he looks. “Are you okay, Blue?”
“Yeah,” he answers automatically, then he shakes his head. “I forgot how… loud it gets in here.”
“I figured,” I say, holding out the black box to him. “I got this for you the day after the party. I remember you had a similar pair a few years ago.”
He takes the box and turns it around, staring at the noise-cancelling headphones inside. They’re the good kind—the comfortable kind with soft earcups and active noise cancelling tech. I bought them the morning after the last Sin Bin party, standing in the electronics store and staring at all the options like a fucking idiot.
I told myself it was practical, and it made sense for him to have them around with the Sin Bin being what it was. But I know thetruth—I bought them because I saw the way he was constantly flinching at the party. Because I remembered how loud the world gets for him when it doesn’t for the rest of us.
For a second, he just stares at them, turning them over in his hands. Then his gaze lifts back to mine, and I notice the soft and stunned expression on his pretty face. “You… you got these for me?”
“Moore! Get your ass back here!” Coach shouts, but I ignore him and focus on Noah.
I shrug, suddenly aware of how much I don’t want to make this a big deal. “Yeah. I just never got the chance to give them to you before.”
When he slips them on and presses the button on the side, I watch his shoulders drop almost instantly. The tension drains out of him in a way that makes my throat go tight.
“You didn’t have to… but thank you,” he says, and his voice is steadier now.
“Anytime,” I say, and I mean it in a way that scares the shit out of me.
I force myself back into drills before I say something dumb like,“I love you, andI’d do anything for you.”
Back on the court, I’m distracted, but not in a way that costs me plays or makes me mess up shots—I’m still locked in. Every time I glance up, Noah’s got his camera lifted, snapping shots when he thinks no one notices.
I catch him mid-shot once, lens pointed straight at me, and he freezes when I look up at him. I grin without meaning to, just a flash of teeth, and his cheeks turn a little pink as he lowers the camera.
Ryan notices immediately, because of course he does. “Oh, so that’s who you’re playing for today,” he calls out. “You trying to impress the photographer?”
“Shut up and guard someone,” I shoot back, but I can’t stop the warmth spreading through my chest.
By the end of practice, I’m exhausted in a good way. The kind that feels fulfilling and quiets the noise in my head instead of amplifying it. When I look back up at the stands, Noah’s still there—headphones on, camera bag resting on his lap, and wearing a serene smile that makes my heart ache.
Fuck me, I love that smile.
I towel off quickly, sweat cooling in sharp relief against my already heated skin. The rest of the team disperses in uneven clumps, joking, hollering, and cursing Coach’s last set of sprints. I toss a bottle of water to Ryan, who is already running his mouth about how I should start charging Noah for the view.
I ignore him and flip him off as I drink half of my water, then I jog over to where Noah is packing up his things. He notices me coming and stands up a little too fast—cheeks and tips of his ears red as if he’s been caught out.
“Good practice,” he says, fumbling with the strap of his camera that he’s wound around his wrist. “I sometimes forget how much taller you are than other people, even other players.”
“Yeah, Killian hates that I’m the tallest in the house,” I grin at him—a real, wide grin that I can’t seem to rein in. I’m still catching my breath from the final drill, hair damp and stuck to my forehead. “You watched the whole thing?” I ask, running a hand through my hair and slicking it back.
He nods, glancing down at his fingers fidgeting with the strap. “Yeah. I got some good shots too, I think.” Then he looks back up at me with that soft look shining in his eyes again. “You’re… really good, you know that?”
I snort, dragging a hand through my hair again, and this time it’s because he makes me so goddamn nervous. “You’re just saying that because I got you headphones.”
He laughs, and it’s a quick, breathy sound. “Maybe, but you are good. I can see why Coach yells so much. You don’t let up.”
“I try,” I say, leaning against the wall and suddenly realizing how close we are and how easy this feels. For a second, I think about saying something else—something about how seeing him here kept me sharp—but I bite it back.
Noah hesitates, then he bites his bottom lip, cheeks still pink. “Uhm… what are you doing after practice?”
I blink at him, heart lurching. “Not much. Why?”
He looks down again, fingers flexing against his thigh before looking back up at me. “Would you want to come over? To my place, I mean—for dinner?” he stammers. “I mean, I’m just… just ordering takeout, nothing special, since you know I’m a terror in the kitchen. But… if you want to, you can… join me?”
