“Noah, stop! I can’t do this. Tell me to stop, goddamn it.Tell me.”
His hands fly to his face, swiping at tears with trembling fists.
I didn’t mean to upset him, but I obviously did… and the second I see him cry, it guts me.
My chest tightens. I can’t think. I just see his shoulders shake and his fingers claw at his face like he’s trying to erase the moment. Why am I feeling like I’m missing something? Like I was supposed to protect him—from the world, from himself, from me.
It feels like I’m watching something precious fall apart in my hands, and all I can do is stare at him, torn between wanting to run and needing to hold him together.
I reach out with shaky hands, gently pulling his away from his face, guiding them down to his sides—to the only place I can anchor him now.
“Shh… I’m sorry, angel,” I whisper, barely able to keep my voice steady as I stare down at his tears. “Don’t hide them from me. They’re too beautiful to hide.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, choking back his utter sadness.
I wince at the pain I swear I can feel seeping out of him like a silent cry trapped behind the weight of his lids.
A single tear escapes, trailing down his cheek. I brush it away with the back of my knuckles, gentle and slow.
What happened to you?
What did the world do to make you want to hide your hurt so quietly?
As my fingers drift along the curve of his face, he lifts his arms from his sides—slow—extending them outward, spreading them wide like wings.
I stare down at him, mesmerized by the beauty beneath me. It’s the most spectacular sight I’ve ever seen—holy and wrecked, soft and unguarded.
His lashes rise from tear-steaked cheeks, and for a moment, all I can do is sit in awe of his submission—his vulnerability on full display.
“Alex,” he whispers.
His pupils are blown so wide they obliterate the blue, leaving behind a void so black it’s haunting. His tears are gone, evaporated not by heat, but by trust.
And I can barely breathe.
Because I realize what I’m seeing—a window to his soul. He’s allowing me to see him. All of him. It’s so heartbreakingly disturbing. I don’t know if I’m witnessing beauty or tragedy—or both.
And it scares the fuck out of me.
“Jesus. Noah…” I run my hands along the sides of his neck and then lift my body off his, feeling a slight tremor roll through my bones.
“You’re touching me,” he pants out, looking up at me. “Don’t stop touching me, Alex. Please. Don’t ever stop touching me.”
Fuckinghell.
I slide down his body and press my lips to his slender waist, running my palm down the side of his hip. Elijah’s face sits in the back of my mind, barely visible, trying to push through the fog of conflicting desires I don’t understand. I never realized how thick and claustrophobic fog can be.
“Ooooo…” he moans, fingers slipping into my hair. The scent of sweat and musk fills my nostrils as I inhale his skin like I’m snorting a line of coke.
“Oh my god,” he cries, jerking his hips, spreading his legs.
And then he holds my head still. Fingers pulling at the roots of my hair.
I look up from the waistline of his spandex shorts.
“You need to stop,” he finally says, turning his head to the side and slapping a palm against his thigh.
My hand slips down to his, and I scoot more to my side, confused by the sudden shift in his energy. There’s a stillness to him now—like the calm before something breaks.
