The night's cold is intense, but I don't feel it in my body. I'm too busy watching Noah, arguing with Sterling, the head of Stanford's Inclusion Department, under the golden lights of the plaza. His gestures are tense, hands moving quickly, and I wonder if Sterling has already figured out the farce, if he's telling him the scholarship is screwed or something worse. From here, I can't hear anything, but I see Sterling grab his arm when Noah tries to turn away. He says something with a judge-like face, and for a second, Noah looks disarmed, shoulders tense. Sterling lets him go, stepping back, and the conversation ends.
Noah walks toward me, and the shadow of worry vanishes from his face in an instant. He flashes me a calm smile, the kind he uses to soothe any storm. "Let's go home," he says, with a calmness that sounds rehearsed.
I nod, keeping my mouth shut. We walk toward Old Campus, the icy air slipping through our sleeves and the streetlights painting the cobblestone paths. The silence between us doesn't weigh heavy; there's a warm current in the air, something that makes the cold irrelevant. His steps echo softly, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the glint of the lights in his eyes, holding back whatever he's carrying inside.
We cross the door of the Alpha Centauri house, and the place is quiet but alive. Murmurs drift from the rooms: a cut-off laugh, the rhythmic thump of a bed against the wall, low voices fading in the hallway. Some are already making the most of the night. Jake passes through the corridor with a beer in hand, sees us, and raises the bottle with a sly grin. "Look at the lovebirds!" he says, winking. "You guys patched things up or still fighting?"
"Go to hell, Jake," I reply, with a laugh that slips out.
Noah lets out a low chuckle, giving him a light shove. "Easy, the only one stirring up drama here is this guy," he says, nodding toward me with his chin.
"Hey…" I retort as we climb the stairs, the wood creaking under our feet.
"Keep it down, some of us want to sleep early!" Jake shouts from below, his laugh mixing with the echo of a bottle rolling on the floor.
Noah walks ahead, hands in his pockets, moving slower than usual. There's something on his face, a shadow I haven't seen before, like he's carrying a weight he doesn't want to let go of.
"Hey, what did Sterling say to you?" I ask, grabbing his arm to stop him on the landing.
He turns, and for a moment, it seems like he's going to spill the truth. But his eyes soften, and he says, "Nothing you need to worry about, relax." His voice is calm, but it sounds too measured, almost rehearsed.
I don't buy it. "You sure?" I press, crossing my arms. "Did he say the scholarship's done or what happened?"
He sighs, staring at the floor. "Ethan, it's not your problem, I swear. It's something I have to deal with. We're good, really."
That calmness disarms me, though it doesn't fully convince me. "Okay, if you say so," I say, and head toward my room.
I put my hand on the doorknob when I feel his hand on my arm. He makes me turn, and his gaze is softer, almost fragile.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asks, in a whisper that's barely audible.
"What?" I say, caught off guard.
"I know after the thing with Morgan and everything, it might be weird," he says quickly, as if afraid I'll cut him off. "But it's not for anything strange, I promise. I just don't want to be alone tonight."
I look at him for a second, and there's something in his voice, in how he lowers his eyes, that makes me give in. "Alright," I reply, before he can say more.
He lets out a relieved sigh and flashes me a brief, tired, but sincere smile. I enter the room, close the door, and change quickly: gray hoodie, white T-shirt, cotton pants. I pull the bed down from the frame, thinking about tossing some blankets on the floor for him, but I don't get to it.
Two soft knocks on the door pull me out of my head. It's weird: Noah never knocks, he always barges in like he owns the place. I open the door and see him leaning against the frame, barefoot, in an old T-shirt and loose pajama pants. His hair's a mess, with a carefree air.
"Since when do you ask for permission?" I ask, with a smile.
"What can I say, with you, I've got to behave," he replies, shrugging, with a playful glint in his eyes. "Can I come in, or are you leaving me in the hallway?"
"Come in already, drama queen," I say, laughing, and gesture him in.
He steps in slowly, with a smile that mixes mockery and shyness. He glances around the room, like he's inspecting it. "Where are the blankets?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, as if expecting a campsite set up.
"I thought you could sleep in the bed with me tonight," I say, leaning against the wardrobe, trying to sound casual.
"Really? What an honor," he replies, his smile growing, arching an eyebrow. "So, you trust me now?"
"Don't get too excited," I tease, crossing my arms. "It's just for tonight."
"Relax, I won't steal your space," he says, flopping onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.
"We'll see about that," I retort, rolling my eyes, though a laugh escapes me.
"Just don't climb on top of me again," he says, with a mischievous tone that catches me off guard.
"What? You're the one who climbed on me!" I protest, laughing as I sit on the other side.
"That's your version," he replies, with a smile that seems to challenge me, as he gets comfortable.
"You're hopeless," I mutter, turning off the lamp before lying down.
We stay on our respective sides, the room wrapped in a soft calm. The murmur of the house continues: a door closing, distant laughter, the echo of footsteps in the hallway. We talk about anything: classes that are killing us, jabs about Jake and his beer obsession, crazy plans we'll never follow through on. The laughter mixes with quiet pauses, and little by little, the words slow down, dragging, until sleep starts to win.
I hear his breathing on the other side, steady, calm, and the room feels warmer than it should. It's weird, I think before closing my eyes. Weird, but not bad.
****
The birdsong slips through the window, that faint sound that always gets on my nerves because it means one thing: time to get up. And who the hell wants to wake up early?
I open my eyes, and the ceiling greets me, grayish under the pale light coming through the window. I turn lazily, and there he is. Noah. Calm, sleeping like the world can wait.
I've never shared a bed with anyone. Not even with Jackson, when he crashed here, did this happen. And definitely not after anything physical. But with Noah, there was none of that. He just lay down next to me, fell asleep, without seeking anything more. And yet, here I am, caught staring at him.
The morning light bathes his face, softly outlining every feature. His blond hair falls in messy strands over his forehead, moving slightly with his breathing. His lashes are long, his pale skin glows under the sun, and his half-open mouth seems caught in a dream that doesn't include me, but damn, I wish it did.
My heart beats hard, like it's trying to betray me. I like him. I've known it for a while, but seeing him like this, so close, so unaware of the world, makes it impossible to deny. I stay there, watching him, with the birdsong in the background and the soft sound of his breathing filling the room.
I don't notice when his eyes start to open, a flash of blue slipping through his eyelids. He blinks against the light, and his gaze meets mine. The air stops, and the birdsong fades. It's just a second, but the silence weighs too much.
His lips curve into a slow, still-sleepy smile. I stay still, my chest racing, and I don't know if it's because of the light on his face or because he's about five centimeters from me. Without thinking, a clumsy impulse takes over, and I push him.
"Ow!" Noah exclaims, falling to the floor with a thud that makes the wood creak.
I sit up quickly, my heart pounding. "Shit, sorry!" I say, leaning over the edge. "I don't know, you startled me. I forgot you were there."
Noah stays on the floor, rubbing his back, with a mix of indignation and laughter. "Hell of a way to say good morning," he says, looking up at me.
"What can I say, my reflexes are top-notch," I reply, rolling my eyes, but a smile slips out.
"You nearly killed me, Bennett!" he exaggerates, sitting up with a theatrical gesture.
"Don't be dramatic, I didn't push you that hard," I retort, though my smile gives me away.
"Sure, you just sent me to the floor like I was a thief," he says, laughing as he sits on the edge of the bed.
"Technically, you invaded my territory," I reply, shrugging.
A shout cuts through from the hallway: "Hey, lovebirds, keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep!" It's Chris, with a voice cracked from just waking up.
"Shut up, Chris, you haven't slept since freshman year!" Noah shouts, and we both burst into laughter.
"Come down for breakfast, you two, Jake's already burning the toast," Chris yells, followed by the echo of a door closing.
The morning light slides across the floor, and between laughter, jabs, and the house waking up, the day starts slowly, as if this room is all that matters for now.
****
I step out of the bathroom, and Noah's gone. He said he had to "handle something," and I'm almost sure it's about what happened with Sterling last night. That idiot won't say anything, but I'll get it out of him eventually. I dress quickly, tossing the damp towel onto the unmade bed. I grab a white T-shirt that still smells of fabric softener, tight jeans, and my worn black Vans. I run my fingers through my damp hair, mussing it slightly, and sling my backpack over my shoulder.
I rush down the stairs, heading for the exit. "Hey, Bennett, not eating anything?" Chris shouts from the kitchen, holding a piece of bread.
"Running late, later," I reply, not stopping.
The fresh air hits my face as I cross the fraternity's door. I walk quickly through Old Campus's paths, between tall trees dropping leaves onto the damp grass. Stanford mornings have that clean smell, like wet earth and freshly cut grass, that makes you feel the day promises more than it usually delivers. But my head's elsewhere. Noah. Always Noah. No matter how much I try to rein it in, what I feel for him slips through every crack, like the damn air I breathe. Then there's Jackson, who hasn't talked to me in days, with a cold attitude I don't understand. I don't blame him, but I also don't know how to approach him without everything blowing up. And Joe with Julie… there's something off there, even if no one says it out loud.
The campus is alive: students jogging with earbuds, bikes zipping by with half-zipped backpacks, laughter and snippets of conversations mixing with the crunch of leaves under my feet. A couple of guys greet me as they pass, with a "I know you from somewhere" gesture. I nod back on reflex, though I'm not sure if they recognize me from class or the damn auction. Since that day, the looks are more frequent, some curious, some empty, and I don't always know how to take them.
The walk to Tresidder feels endless. I pass a group of guys sprawled on the grass, a couple arguing in whispers by a bench, someone taking photos of the Hoover Tower with their phone. Everything blends with the noise in my head, which won't stop spinning about Noah, Jackson, and everything piling up.
I push open the door to The Coffee House, and the smell of roasted coffee and warm bread wraps around me like a hug. The place is packed, the line almost reaching the entrance. I throw on my apron and dive behind the counter, moving on instinct: take orders, serve, deliver, repeat. Noah should be here, covering the shift with me, but he didn't show, and the chaos crashes over me like a wave. Orders pile up, marked cups stack, and the hum of people becomes a constant buzz.
"You're the guy from the auction, right?" a girl with a high ponytail asks as I set her latte on the counter.
I nod, not looking at her much. "Yeah, that's me."
"It showed," she says, with a sly smile. "After that, everyone was talking about you."
"Nice, I guess," I reply, trying to sound relaxed, though I'm not thrilled about the topic.
"Depends who you ask," her friend says, laughing as she grabs her coffee.
I force a smile and move to the next order.
The pace is brutal. The line doesn't let up, names blur together, and I'm about to lose my patience when Rose shows up. She throws on her apron and jumps behind the counter without a word. In minutes, we're moving like we've rehearsed: she takes orders, I prepare, and we manage not to drown in the chaos.
In the rush, we mix up a couple of drinks. One girl complains, another laughs, and I toss out a joke to lighten things up. "Rose, I think you're losing your touch," I say, with a grin.
She turns, shoots me a look with a raised eyebrow, and smacks me lightly on the head with a rag. "Focus, Bennett, you're the one screwing up."
"Okay, okay, boss," I reply, laughing as I return to the coffee machine.
I keep going on autopilot, but my head's on Noah. He should be here, behind the counter, making his dumb jokes or winking to get under my skin. His absence feels like a hole, and I don't know if I'm more annoyed or worried. Last night, at the skate park and then at Half Moon Bay, everything was so… damn perfect. For a moment, I forgot about tutoring, Molecular Chemistry that's killing me, last quarter's mess. But then I remember his words on the ramp: "If you were a woman, you'd be my type." That hit me hard, and after last night, it hurts more. I've rejected him twice, and I'm about to do it a third time, all to avoid feeling like this again. But I also know he needs me, and I can't just turn my back on him. These boundaries I'm setting are killing me.
"Shit, my bones hurt!" Rose complains, stretching with a hand on her hip.
"You're…" I start, with a grin, but she cuts me off with a murderous look.
"Don't finish that sentence, Ethan, or I'll kill you right here," she says, smacking me with the rag again while laughing.
"Okay, okay, chill," I reply, raising my hands. "By the way, where's Noah? He was supposed to cover this shift."
Rose sighs, leaning on the counter. "He came in early, asked for the day off. Said he had something urgent, couldn't wait."
"Really?" I ask, frowning. "And he didn't say what?"
"Nope, just that it was important," she replies, shrugging. "You two are a mystery. What's up with you guys? Are you a couple or what? There are rumors, you know."
"Uh… no, nothing like that," I stammer, feeling the heat in my face. "We're… complicated."
"Sure, 'complicated,'" she says, with a mocking smile, before turning back to the orders.
The door opens, and the noise of the place fades for a second. Jackson walks in. Our eyes meet, and his expression throws me off: I don't know if he's angry, sad, or just exhausted. He walks calmly to the counter, rests his hands on it, and looks at me.
"One strong coffee," he says, his voice lower than usual.
"Okay, Bennett, take care of your friend," Rose says, taking off her apron with a sly grin. "I'm taking a break. Don't make a mess on your own."
She heads to the office, leaving me alone with Jackson and a silence heavier than the café's buzz. I prepare his coffee, set it in front of him, and the steam rises slowly between us. I look at him, leaning on the counter, while he stares at the cup.
"You still remember how I like it," he says, almost in a whisper.
"I don't know if I know what you like lately," I reply, looking at him steadily.
He nods slightly, not lifting his gaze. "I've been messed up these past few days," he admits, quietly. "But I'm getting over it, really. It's just been… complicated."
He looks up and gives me a weak, almost guilty smile. "You know I missed you."
"And I missed you, idiot," I say, with a sigh I can't hold back. "We haven't talked in days, and I don't even know why. Every time I try to bring it up, you shut down or change the subject."
He presses his lips together, looking at the cup again. "Don't start with that, please," he says, before I can go on.
"No, Jack, I'm worried," I insist, keeping my voice firm. "I've never seen you like this. What's going on?"
There's a silence. His fingers pause on the edge of the cup, and he looks at me for a second before looking away.
"Is it about Julie?" I ask, probing.
Nothing. Not a gesture.
"Is it about Joe?" I say, and then he looks at me.
His eyes say everything without words. The piece clicks, and the knot in my stomach tightens.
"Why do you keep going with that?" he replies, frowning, his voice tense.
"Because it's obvious, Jack," I say, leaning closer to the counter. "Since you met Joe, you've been weird. And I'm not the only one who's noticed."
"What the hell are you talking about?" he snaps, setting the cup down with a thud.
"That Joe looks at you like you're the center of the universe," I reply, not breaking eye contact. "Damn it, Jack, it's obvious he likes you."
He freezes, shoulders tense, avoiding my eyes. Then he lets out an empty laugh. "What do you know about what Joe feels?" he asks, hurt.
"I know you two are inseparable, and then suddenly you pull away," I reply. "Right after Joe kissed Julie at Noah's party. Tell me, what's going on?"
He clenches his jaw, setting the cup down harder. "You don't know anything."
"Then tell me," I insist, raising my voice. "Because something's up, Jack, and if you don't want to admit it, at least tell me why you're so defensive."
He straightens, eyes blazing. "Because I'm sick of you meddling in everything!"
"Because I care about you, damn it!" I retort, stepping closer to the counter. "We've been friends since we got here. We tell each other everything. And now, when I'm worried, you treat me like a stranger. What are you afraid of?"
He lets out another empty, humorless laugh. "Afraid? I'm not afraid of anything. Joe doesn't matter to me, Julie doesn't matter, none of it matters."
"Of course it matters," I say, calmer, though the frustration burns. "If it didn't, you wouldn't be like this."
"No, Ethan," he says, his voice trembling. "Leave me alone, okay?"
I look at him. His hands shake slightly, and you can see the effort to hold it together. "I just want to help," I say, softening my tone.
"I don't need your help," he replies, firm, almost broken. "Nothing's wrong."
"Jack, yesterday at the auction, I saw you arguing with Joe," I press. "It wasn't a normal talk. When Julie showed up, you both shut up instantly. What the hell are you hiding?"
He shoots me a cold, closed-off look. "That's all in your head. There's nothing going on between Joe and me. I don't like guys. And neither does Joe."
"Joe's bisexual," I reply, not raising my voice. "Everyone at Alpha Centauri knows it. And he's crazy about you, it's obvious in how he looks at you, how he talks to you."
He takes a deep breath, fists clenched. "And what do you know about what Joe feels?" he throws at me, hurt. "Since when do you care so much?"
"Since it matters to you," I reply, without thinking.
For a second, it seems like he's going to say something, but he runs a hand through his hair and steps back. "Coming here was a mistake," he mutters.
He leaves some bills on the counter and turns around. "Jack…" I call, but he doesn't stop.
He raises a hand, not looking back, and leaves. The door closes with a soft thud, and the noise of the café fills the space again. The hum of voices, the steam from the machine, the laughter of customers… it all comes back, but it feels distant, like the echo of his words and that empty feeling are the only real things.
****
"Come on, just tell me already!" Julie corners me as we cross the campus plaza, the midday air brushing my face.
"I already told you no, leave me alone," I reply, picking up my pace, hands stuffed in my pockets.
"Oh, please, don't be boring!" she insists, almost shouting, as she dodges a couple of students passing by on bikes.
"Julie…" I say, exasperated.
"Mike was supposed to win you at the auction, but in the end, it was someone online," she says, looking at me with eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Someone who obviously likes you."
"I highly doubt that," I reply, looking at the ground, where dry leaves crunch under my Vans.
"They paid two thousand dollars for you, Ethan," she says, her tone half-incredulous, half-mocking. "You're telling me you didn't hook up with whoever it was?"
"What? No!" I stop dead, turning to her. "You're so dramatic! Where do you get that from?"
"Man, if someone pays two grand for me, I'd at least expect some action," she replies, with a crooked smile that makes me roll my eyes.
"There was none of that, Julie," I say, serious, glancing at a group of guys laughing near a bench.
She gives me a look that mixes frustration and amusement. "So who was it?" she presses, walking beside me. "Tell me something, a hint. I know them, don't I?"
"Julie, enough!" I say, trying not to laugh as I dodge a guy with earbuds who nearly runs me over.
"Come on!" She grabs my arm and shakes me, making a couple of students on the grass look at us curiously. "I'm not stopping until you spill the truth!"
"God, calm down!" I whisper, trying to lower her volume, but she's still clinging to my arm like a claw.
We cross the plaza, with the sun hitting the buildings and the campus murmur filling the air: laughter, bike pedals, the echo of a distant horn. "You never get tired of bugging me, do you?" I say, between a laugh and a sigh, trying to shake her off.
"Have I ever?" she replies, with a shameless grin, squeezing my arm until it leaves marks.
"Alright, let go," I mutter, without much effort to break free.
"So, are you telling me who it was or not?" she presses, her eyes gleaming.
"Julie, please," I say, exhausted, as we reach the library, its stone facade catching the midday light.
"Oh, don't play hard to get," she says, faking a pout. "I just want to know who the mystery person is who paid for you."
"Enough, seriously," I reply, half-laughing. "Tell me about you instead. What happened with Joe last night?"
She stops, glancing at me sideways, like she's measuring how much to say. "Oh, didn't I tell you?" she says, with a half-smile.
"I only know you wanted to corner him for answers," I say, shrugging as I rub the spot on my arm where her nails left a mark. "And you don't look devastated, so I guess it wasn't a disaster."
"Nope, not at all," she replies, with a satisfied smile. "It was fun, honestly."
"Yeah?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, feigning interest.
"Yep. First, we went to eat, and we had a little argument," she says, animated. "I told him to clear things up already. He didn't give me details, just that he's dealing with something that's got him messed up. But… I don't know, I think I got it."
"Sure," I say, with a dry tone I don't bother hiding.
"Then we went dancing," she continues, not noticing my discomfort. "And the night ended… well, how it was supposed to end."
"You two…?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Yeah," she says, with a sly smile, shrugging. "It was like makeup sex. Amazing. You can't imagine how intense it was. We almost broke the bed. It was like he was unloading all his frustration on me."
"Poor guy," I mutter, looking at the ground. "I don't know what's up with him, but it must be complicated."
Julie nods, not catching my tone, and keeps walking like it's nothing. I stay quiet, my head a mess. Shit. I don't know what to think about Joe. I hate him. I hate him because he's with Julie when it's clear he feels something for Jackson. And I hate him more because he slept with her right after fighting with him. Everything Julie says sounds like he took out on her what he can't resolve with Jackson. And she, without fully understanding, let him. What the hell is this idiot doing?
"So, you're not telling me?" Julie asks as we cross the library door, lowering her voice but with curiosity still shining in her eyes.
"I already said no," I reply, keeping calm as we move through the hallways, with the smell of old wood and paper.
"Oh, come on, at least tell me where you went," she insists, with a relentless smile.
I sigh, dodging a student passing with a stack of books. "We went to Elizabeth Garden, then skated, and ended up at the beach," I say, hoping that'll shut her up.
She stops, raising an eyebrow. "Damn, really?" she says, in a whisper to avoid drawing looks. "That sounds romantic. I don't think you've ever had a date like that."
"Nope, honestly," I admit, with a lopsided smile. "Just quick hookups, nothing more."
She lets out a soft laugh, giving me a nudge with her shoulder. "About time someone treated you right," she says, winking.
"Guess so," I reply, shrugging.
"I hope one day you'll tell me who this Romeo is," she says, with a mischievous smile.
"Sure, whenever you want," I lie, looking away.
If Julie finds out it was Noah, she'll kill me. Ever since she learned about the scholarship farce, she can't stand him. And if she discovers he was the one who bought me at the auction and took me on that "date"—which he said was just to "be friends"—she'll want to punch him without a second thought. I know her too well.
"Hey, there they are," she says suddenly, pointing down the hallway.
"Who?" I ask, following her gaze.
"Amber and the Delta girls," she replies. "I'm meeting them. Sounds like there's some drama at their house, and they want to spill."
"What's up?" I ask, a bit worried.
"Don't know yet," she says, shrugging. "Guess I'll find out now. Oh, and they offered me a spot to join Delta."
"You gonna take it?" I ask, as we move between the tables.
"Haven't decided," she replies, with a light smile. "But you're happy at Alpha Centauri, right? Maybe I'd do okay with them."
"Guess so," I say, without much enthusiasm.
She heads toward the group of girls, already whispering around a table. I watch her for a moment, thinking I haven't told her half of what's happened with Noah. Since they saw us at the house, the vibe at Alpha Centauri has changed. Since Nichols opened his damn mouth, everything's gotten heavier, colder. The looks, the whispers… I try to ignore them, but they're there.
"See you later," I say, with a quick wave.
"Yeah, good luck with tutoring," she replies, with a quick wink before joining the girls.
I walk toward the hallway exit, adjusting my backpack, and head to the table where I'm supposed to meet the tutor. The library's murmur surrounds me: pages turning, keyboards clacking, chairs creaking. The midday light spills through the windows, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. I try to focus, but my head's on Jackson. I texted him earlier, and nothing. No reply, no read receipt. Before, he at least saw my messages. Now I think he's really pissed. Maybe I hit a nerve at The Coffee House. Maybe he doesn't understand what's going on with Joe, or doesn't want to. All he knows is he's furious, and living with that must suck.
I glance at my phone, unsure what else to write, when a voice whispers in my ear: "What's up, pretty boy? So distracted?"
My heart jumps. I turn, and there's Noah, with a smile that disarms everything, leaning on the table like he owns the place. A couple of students nearby look up, curious, before returning to their books.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to sound calm, though my pulse says otherwise.
"Tutoring," he replies, shrugging, and sits across from me with an irritating calm. "I'm your tutor."
"Seriously?" I say, still incredulous.
"Yep," he says, setting his backpack aside. "Bet you didn't see that coming, huh?"
I watch him as he settles in, with that carefree attitude that both annoys and draws me in. He notices and raises an eyebrow, with a sly smile. "Stop looking at me like that, big eyes."
"Big eyes?" I repeat, frowning.
"Your eyes, Bennett," he says, leaning in a bit, lowering his voice. "I like them. I think they're what I look at most about you. Well, that and your ass when I get the chance."
"That was one time, idiot," I retort, feeling the heat rise to my face.
"Two, actually," he corrects, with a wink. "That time in your room, in the mirror."
"God, shut up!" I whisper, rubbing my forehead as a girl at the next table shoots us an annoyed "shhh."
Noah raises his hands, pretending to apologize, but his soft laugh makes a couple more heads turn. The library's heavy silence clashes with our chaos. I lower my voice. "Hey, where were you?" I ask, changing the subject. "You didn't show up for the café shift. What were you doing?"
"Uh, stuff I need to sort out," he replies, spinning a pen between his fingers, the click echoing in the silence. "Don't worry, I'm here now, aren't I?"
"You, my tutor?" I repeat, still surprised.
"What? Missed me that much?" he says, with a smile that lights up his eyes.
"You know I didn't," I reply, though a laugh escapes me. "By the way, does your ass still hurt from this morning?"
"You pushed me harder," he retorts, with a theatrical gesture, touching his back.
"And you're still dodging," I say, narrowing my eyes. "What's up with Sterling?"
He sighs, looking at the pen. "Come on, Ethan, it's not a big deal. I'll tell you later, okay?"
"Don't do anything stupider," I insist, not fully lowering my voice.
"Ethan," he says, leaning in, with a more serious tone. "I'm handling it. Don't worry," he repeats, mimicking me with a smile that I'm not sure is mockery or an attempt to calm me.
A book slams shut at a nearby table, and the librarian glares at us from the desk. Noah lowers his voice, leaning closer. "Just focus, okay?" he says, calmer. "I know I do stupid stuff, but I'll mature someday."
"I doubt it," I reply, with a lopsided smile.
"I know you're pissed, that you're worried," he continues, softening his tone. "But cut me some slack, yeah?"
"I'm always cutting you slack," I retort, raising an eyebrow. "And lately, it's not doing much. I'm too soft on you."
"Then why don't you punish me?" he says, with a sly smile, lowering his voice. "How about cutting off my services?"
I look at him like I want to kill him. "Alright, sorry," he says quickly, raising his hands. "But don't get mad, big eyes."
Another girl clears her throat from the back, and a passing student shoots us a curious look. The library's serious atmosphere seems to swallow our words. Noah takes a deep breath. "Hey, what happened with Morgan that day doesn't have to screw everything up, okay? Let's leave that behind."
"Guess so," I mutter, looking at the table.
The silence settles, broken only by the rustle of pages, a distant sneeze, the hum of the air conditioning. Noah holds my gaze for a second, and all the noise fades between us.
"Alright, let's get started," he says, with a lighter smile. "This does count as tutoring."
I nod, though I know focusing is going to be hell with him sitting there.
Noah opens a notebook full of colorful markers and messy notes and pulls out a thick book that looks like it weighs a ton. "Okay, let's see," he says, flipping pages. "In your unit, have you gotten to intermolecular interactions yet?"
"We covered some of it," I reply, not entirely sure.
"Perfect," he says, not missing a beat. "Tell me, what's the difference between a Van der Waals force and a hydrogen bond?"
I open my mouth but take a moment to piece together an answer. "Van der Waals are weaker, right? From temporary partial charges."
"Exactly," he says, quickly sketching structures on a sheet. "Hydrogen bonds are stronger, have a preferred direction. They depend on the atom's electronegativity. Look, here."
His strokes are confident, like it's etched in his mind. He explains calmly, with a mix of confidence and clarity that makes chemistry feel less like a punishment. He talks about orbitals, electron density, dispersion forces, like it's a casual chat. "In proteins, these interactions define the three-dimensional structure," he says, with a faint smile. "All that boring theory stuff is what makes your body work."
I listen, trying to keep up, but I get caught up in how he explains, in the ease with which he makes it all sound simple. "Okay, try this," he says, pushing a sheet toward me. "It's about molecular geometry and polarity. Hint: think about how the bond affects the shape and polarity."
I take the sheet, which looks like it's written in another language, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, with a half-smile. "Come on, big eyes, it doesn't bite."
"Stop calling me big eyes, it's weird," I mutter, not looking up from the paper.
"Would you prefer Bennett?" he says, with a mocking tone. "Okay, Bennett, but big eyes suits you better."
I look at him, tempted to throw the notebook at him, and he lets out a low laugh that makes the librarian glare at us again. "Alright, alright, sorry," he says, raising his hands.
I start working on the exercise, sketching angles and marking dipoles, feeling his gaze fixed on me. The silence stretches, broken by the scratch of my pencil and the distant murmur of the library.
"Can I ask something?" he says suddenly, breaking the calm.
"What?" I reply, not looking up.
"You know more about me than most people here," he says, lowering his voice, with a more serious tone. "But I know almost nothing about you. I know you like skating, football, that you're terrible at tennis… but who's Ethan Bennett? Not the serious guy who wants to kill me all the time."
My pencil stops. I look up, and there's a real curiosity in his eyes that throws me off. "You know about my parents," he continues, leaning on the table. "You even met my mom. You know about my grandfather. But you never talk about yours. Why?"
I feel a knot in my throat. I don't know if it's discomfort or just exhaustion. "It's just…" I start, but the words get stuck.
"Sorry," he says quickly, softening his tone, noticing my discomfort. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
The silence returns, heavy, awkward. A book closes in the distance, soft footsteps echo in the hallway. "You done?" he asks, with a lighter tone, trying to ease the air.
I hand him the sheet, and while he reviews it, I think he's right. I know a lot about him, but he knows almost nothing about me. Except that I'm gay, of course, and what he already knows. It's not the time to talk about my parents. I don't want to. Let's leave things as they are.
"Okay," he says, nodding. "A couple of mistakes, but nothing major. Fix this, and next time I'll give you something more complex."
I nod, grateful he doesn't press. He goes back to the notebook, slipping into tutor mode, guiding me step by step with patience, explaining where I went wrong. His voice blends with the library's murmur, and for a moment, the tension dissolves, as if the weight of everything unsaid stays trapped among the books and the still air.