I reach up, gently taking his hands and guiding them down between us. My thumbs glide over the backs of his hands—small, slow movements.
“Okay, mi amor. I believe you. But you need to calm down, or you’ll end up in the hospital right next to Noah.”
His head drops. Shoulders sag.
“She said she was surprised to see me,” Gabriel mutters. “Made some comment about me being into twinks now.”
I squeeze his hands, trying to reassure him. “Oh, love, Noah’s a beautiful per?—”
“That’snotwhy I’m upset, Elijah. You know I don’t give a fuck about that.”
I nod. It’s true—he doesn’t.
“Then what is it?”
He looks up at me, tears streaking his deep-gray eyes.
“Didn’t you hear me? She was expecting to seeAlex.”
A beat of silence. The words hang between us like static.
“But why would Alex be at Noah’s?”
Gabriel blows out a breath. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I have no fucking clue.”
I take his hand and gently guide him toward the elevator. It chimes softly as the doors slide open. I step in first, giving Gabriel’s hand a light tug to follow.
“Alright. If it’ll give you peace of mind, we’ll take a look around.” I glance at him, my tone turning firm. “Just… be respectful of Noah’s space.”
He nods, but his eyes stay distant, troubled, lost in thoughts I can’t quite reach.
As the doors close behind us, a quiet settles between us.
And I can’t help but wonder… what exactly are we about to find?
I’m notsure what I expected when we walked into Noah’s apartment—but it wasn’t this.
His place feels completely different from mine. Granted, I live in the penthouse, but I assumed the other units in this building had a similar layout or style. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Where my space is sleek and contemporary—metals, glass, stone—Noah’s is warm and earthy, filled with a mix of dark and light woods. There’s a quiet calm to it, almost like stepping into a forest. Soothing. Intentional. I wonder if Gabriel had a hand in the decor.
A soft glow spills from the hallway to my left—the direction Gabriel disappeared down moments ago. His anxiety’s on edge. His hair is disheveled, verging on wild territory. Normally, I’d find it irresistible, but I make a mental note to suggest a trim soon… not that it matters. Gabriel could grow it to his waist and still turn heads.
“Close the door,” he barks as I step into Noah’s bedroom.
The first thing that catches my eye is a stainless-steel pole—right in the center of the room. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the otherwise rustic furnishings.
Off to the left, a king-size bed sits in soft disarray, its colorful quilt—shades of pink and purple—half hanging to the floor.
“Don’t mind the bed,” Gabriel says, reading my mind. An unmade bed. My ultimate pet peeve. It drives me insane.
I look away, trying to ignore it, and spot a rolltop desk tucked into the far corner, nestled between two slanted windows. The little nook feels homey, cozy. It’s cute, and I can see Noah spending a lot of time there, lost in thought.
Gabriel plops into the chair and runs his fingers along the underside of the desk. I step closer, hovering beside him.
“Be gentle,” I warn. “It looks like an antique—probably costs a fortune.”
He shoots me a look that saysdon’t you think I know this,and I raise my hands in surrender as, with deliberate care, he slides the wooden slats back—and I draw in a breath.
