Back at the apartment, we unpack everything. Noah bobs his head, humming some eighties tune I recognize but can’t name under his breath as he lines things up in the cupboard like he’s always lived here. I find myself watching him, how naturally he fits in the space.
He opens the Oreos and slides the pack toward me, looking up from beneath his lashes before winking. “Quality control,” he says before popping a whole one into his mouth.
My lips curve as I keep my head dipped. I take one, waiting for the expected sting of guilt. It doesn’t come. Just the familiar sweetness and Noah’s grin when I reach for a second.
I go to my room with a smile on my face and the taste of Oreos in my mouth.
6
NOAH
Gabe pauses onBack to the Futurewhile flicking through streaming options, brow raised. I have to stop myself from bouncing on the sofa like a little kid.
Out of everything available, he picks that. My go-to Shaw rainy day weekend special. I must’ve watched this movie a hundred times in their house growing up—me, Aiden, Gabe half-reading a book beside us, his mom and dad moving around us, probably thrilled that we were sitting still for a change.
When I asked if he wanted to watch a movie tonight, I expected him to say no. He hasn’t exactly been avoiding me, but he’s kept his distance the last few evenings. He goes to his room early enough each night that I wondered if he felt like I was invading his space.
I sit up a bit. “Wow. Haven’t seen that in years.”
“You always loved it,” he says softly. “When we were kids.”
The look on his face and the way he says it does something weird to my chest. It’s like he’s remembering those days as fondly as I do.
“Yeah.” I can’t help smiling. “Your mom used to be able to quote half of it. Your dad pretended he hated it and then laughed the loudest.”
There’s a sadness in his voice when he speaks and I feel it, too. “They did do that.”
He’s still hovering by the TV with the remote in hand, looking between the sofa and armchair like he can’t decide.
I scoot to the corner of the sofa and nod my head toward the opposite end. I keep my smile easy, and after a second, he comes over and takes the opposite end, one leg tucked under him.
He glances at me, then hits play.
The opening music comes on louder than expected. Gabe jolts, shoulders jumping up, dropping the remote.
Shit, I was listening to music on the TV earlier while he was in the store and forgot to turn it down. It’s not overly loud, but clearly louder than Gabe keeps it.
I pick up the remote and turn the volume down. “Sorry,” I say, tapping the button a few more times. “Didn’t realize I left it that high.”
My heart sinks, I can’t believe I did that. He pulls in a breath. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s too loud, I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “We can keep it low. Want subtitles on? I watch stuff like that sometimes anyway.”
It’s not a lie, my apartment in the city had paper-thin walls and a neighbor wholovedto complain.
He gives me a quick, searching look, like he’s checking if I’m saying that for his benefit.
“You do?” he asks curiously.
“Yeah, sometimes.” I shrug. “Then I don’t miss any of the good lines.”
He nods once. “Okay. Subtitles are good.”
We watch in relative quiet for a while, the volume low enough to hear my stomach growling. I give him a sheepish grin.
Gabe chuckles lightly, and it’s a lovely sound. “Hungry? I could make you something.”
He always says that, makemesomething. Not us, not him. It’s like he thinks I expect that.
