Wait, what did he meanwith all the others?
By the end of the track, I’m warm and a little dizzy. The game throws up scores and a shower of fake confetti. I win without trying, but considering Noah’s moves, I shouldn’t be surprised. He clutches his chest like he’s been wronged.
“I have been robbed,” he announces. “There must be something wrong with the console.”
“You were off the screen for half of it,” I deadpan.
“My passion cannot be contained by frame.” He scrolls again and lands on “Footloose”. “Okay. Prepare to witness athleticism.”
“I’m sorry, did you mean an exorcism?”
He snickers, “That too.”
He is somehow worse at “Footloose”. It should be illegal to have that many elbows. I’m going to be a good friend and not bring it up for the rest of his life. Maybe. He’s glowing—face pink, eyes bright. He doesn’t care how he looks. He laughs at himself like his body is there to provide him with nothing but happiness.
By the next song, I stop thinking about what I’m doing. Stop thinking about my past. I embrace the moment, I take in Noah’s light and let it fill me. The cracks in all my broken pieces can’t contain it, and it spreads into my whole body, making me feel a sliver of pure joy. My shoulders drop. My hips remember exactly where to hit on the beat. I don’t mean to, but I move the way I used to let myself move, the way Ciarán taught me to, fluid and confident.
Noah stops mid-step and just… stares. “Gabe.” He exhales the word, eyes glimmering with wonder as though my dancing is something he’s impressed by. It makes me feel fuzzy. The way he says my name floats through the space, making everything feel surreal.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.
“You can dance.” It isn’t a question. It’s more than that. There’s admiration in it, and something more in his gaze that I can’t place but makes my stomach flutter.
I look at the TV, shrugging. “Not really.”
“Liar,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Keep going.”
So I do. The controller vibration thrums in my palm when I hit a move, and something releases in me with each little sensation. The room blurs to simple things, the slap of my feet, Noah’s happy little noises when he manages to mirror a kick on time. I realize I’m smiling widely, a real one that shows my teeth and feels almost unfamiliar on my face. I keep my face tilted away from him, so he doesn’t see it in full force.
We cycle through songs until we’re sweaty. I peel my cardigan off at some point and toss it on the armchair. Noah uses the hem of his tank to mop his face. The shirt rides up, and I get another glimpse of the lines of his stomach. His eyes lock with mine as the shirt falls back into place, and he licks his lip. My eyes track the movement. I tear my attention back on the TV, heart thrumming.
We flop down on the sofa, breathing loudly.
He smells like clean cotton and the salt of sweat. It’s oddly familiar, like he’s always smelled like that. I like it. I let my head fall back. My heart’s racing, but my mind feels clear. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this whole. It won’t last, I know that, but I soak it in while I can.
“Haven’t heard you laugh like that yet. I actually don’t know if I’ve ever seen you laugh properly. I thought I did when we were younger, but…” he muses after a minute. He doesn’t look at me when he says it, as if he’s trying not to scare a wild animal.
I think back on our shared past, surely I laughed with him and Aiden? The longer I think, though, I’m not sure. As much time as we spent together… I was always separate in a way. Close to them, but never one of them. I pick at a tiny hole in my jeans. “It’s been a while,” I admit.
He nods. “I figured.” He taps his controller against mine, a soft plastic click. “You were… I don’t know. Free. I liked seeing it.”
Free. I don’t feel free. But Noah says it like it’s a thing he saw in me, not a thing he expects from me. I have to look away.
“That was probably weird earlier,” he adds. “With the under-the-bed thing. I just didn’t want to be loud. Or take over. Or—”
“I never asked you to hide your stuff,” I say a little defensively. I hate the thought of him changing or hiding parts of himself.
“I know.” He smiles at the ceiling but looks sad. “You didn’t. I just didn’t want to be too much, I wanted you to let me stay.”
I let his words replay in my mind, understanding them more than I want to. I turn my head. He’s flushed, hair damp at the temples, breathing evening out.
“Don’t hide anything, don’t think you have to change anything about yourself or be different to live here,” I say. It sounds clumsy and earnest, but it’s true, I don’t want him to stop being himself to fit around me. “I like you being here… I like you the way you are.”
His mouth softens. “Yeah?”
There’s a question in his eyes I don’t know the answer to. I nod, and my throat feels like there’s something lodged in there, but I push through it. “And thank you. For yesterday.” The words are harder now, because dancing loosened all the careful walls, and what’s left at the core is already cracked open. “I don’t like anyone seeing me like that.”
“I know.” He doesn’t try to make it smaller. “You did good. You got through it.”
