The sharp scrape of skates cut across the ice, echoing under the dome of Eastside High's rink. Cold air clung to Noah's lungs as he flew down the stretch, stick clutched tight, heart pumping to the rhythm of the game. Out here, he wasn't trapped. Out here, his grandparents didn't exist. Out here, he wasn't "the Blake heir."
He was just Noah. Fast. Reckless. Free.
"Yo, Blake, keep your head up!" Tyler's voice cut through the chill. His best friend barreled down the ice behind him, grinning wide, the kind of grin that dared Noah to push harder.
"I am keeping it up!" Noah yelled back, whipping the puck past the goal line.
Tyler skated up, shoulder-checking him lightly. "Barely. You're so distracted you didn't even notice me creeping up."
"Pfft." Noah smirked, catching his breath. "Please. I could've smoked you with my eyes closed."
"You say that now," Tyler teased, flipping his helmet back. "But something's messing with your head. Don't deny it."
Noah scoffed, tugging at his gloves. "It's just…a party hangover. That's all."
Tyler gave him a long, suspicious look. "Right. And the mysterious angel-boy you practically spilled your soul to on the balcony has nothing to do with it?"
Noah stiffened. His smirk faltered, replaced by a glare. "I didn't spill my soul. I spilled beer. There's a difference."
Tyler's laugh echoed through the rink. "Man, you're so obvious it hurts. You think people didn't notice you two staring each other down like you were about to kiss or kill each other?"
"We weren't—" Noah started, then bit his tongue. Because the truth was, for one insane second, he wasn't sure which it had been either.
Tyler raised his brows knowingly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Across town, Julian adjusted his glasses as he dropped into the chair across from Ethan in the near-empty campus café. It smelled faintly of burnt espresso and vanilla syrup, the kind of cozy warmth Julian didn't mind losing himself in after the chaos of Tyler's party.
Ethan, a wiry boy with bleached hair and earrings shaped like tiny stars, leaned forward. "So? Spill. How was the social experiment?"
Julian rolled his eyes. "It wasn't an experiment. I was dragged there."
Ethan grinned. "And? Did the untouchable nerd survive the jungle of hormones and cheap liquor?"
"I did." Julian sipped his drink calmly. "Though I did get assaulted by a jock and his beer."
Ethan nearly spit his coffee. "Wait—you mean Noah Blake? Hockey-god, heartbreaker, certified dumbass?"
Julian's lips twitched. "That would be the one."
Ethan whistled low. "Damn. You sure know how to make an entrance."
"I didn't do anything," Julian said, though the memory of Noah's reckless grin flickered in his mind. The way his eyes darkened when challenged. The way he leaned in close, all heat and wildness. Julian shook the thought away. "He's infuriating. Loud. Reckless. Everything I don't like."
"And yet," Ethan teased, "you haven't stopped talking about him."
Julian shot him a glare over his glasses. "I'm analyzing him. That's all. He's…interesting."
Ethan leaned back, smirking. "Mhm. Interesting. That's what we're calling it now."
Julian didn't bother denying it. Deep down, even he knew there was something about Noah Blake that wouldn't leave him alone.
Later that evening, Noah trudged up the marble steps of his grandparents' estate. The Blake house wasn't a home. It was a museum of old money—polished portraits of ancestors staring down at him, chandeliers gleaming cold, silence pressing heavy in every hallway.
His grandmother's voice floated from the drawing room, sharp and brittle. "Noah, you're late."
He swallowed the groan building in his throat and stepped inside. His grandfather sat in his usual armchair, newspaper in hand, glasses perched on his nose. His grandmother sat opposite, knitting needles clicking like a metronome of disapproval.
"I had practice," Noah muttered.
"You had enough practice," his grandmother snapped. "What you need is discipline. Respect. Focus on your responsibilities. Not wasting time with…parties."
His chest tightened. He could still hear Julian's calm voice echoing in his head—Reckless ones.
Noah clenched his fists. "It's just a party. I'm allowed to live my life."
"You don't have a life," his grandfather said coldly, not looking up. "You have a legacy. And that legacy has no room for…weakness. No room for shameful behavior."
The word shameful cut like ice. Noah's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He never said anything.
Because in this house, silence was survival.
The next morning, fate decided to be cruel.
Mr. Cline, their AP History teacher, adjusted his bowtie and clapped his hands. "Pair project time! You'll be working in partners for the next two weeks. Don't complain—collaboration builds character."
The room erupted in groans.
Noah slouched in his chair, doodling half-heartedly in his notebook, until the inevitable words landed like a sucker punch.
"Noah Blake…Julian Ainsworth."
The class oohed in unison, like a crowd at a boxing match.
Noah's head snapped up. Julian was already looking at him, expression unreadable behind those damn glasses.
"Perfect," Julian murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Noah groaned out loud. "You've gotta be kidding me."
They sat across from each other in the library, textbooks and notes spread out like a battlefield between them.
"You're not touching the outline," Julian said without looking up.
"I don't need to," Noah shot back. "I'll just wing it."
Julian's eyes flicked up, sharp and green. "You'll fail. And I refuse to let my grade suffer because you can't handle basic structure."
Noah leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Wow, you're bossy. Bet you're fun at parties."
"I don't need parties to validate my existence," Julian said coolly.
Noah tilted his head, watching him. "You're really something, you know that?"
Julian didn't flinch. "I know."
For a moment, silence stretched. Their eyes locked, heat simmering beneath the quiet. Noah's pulse quickened, and for reasons he didn't want to admit, he couldn't look away.
That evening at practice, Tyler cornered Noah in the locker room. "So. You and Julian, huh?"
"We're not a thing," Noah snapped.
"Didn't say you were. Just…you've got that look."
"What look?"
"The I'm screwed and I don't know why but I can't stop thinking about him look," Tyler said with a grin.
Noah shoved him lightly. "Shut up."
But when Tyler wasn't looking, Noah's smile faded. Because maybe…maybe Tyler was right.
Meanwhile, Julian slumped into his seat across from Ethan again. "He's impossible. Loud. Arrogant. Infuriating."
Ethan smirked. "And hot?"
Julian's silence was answer enough.
Ethan leaned forward. "So what's the real issue?"
Julian adjusted his glasses, voice softer than usual. "The issue is…I don't hate him. And I should."
Friday night arrived, and Noah found himself staring at his phone. Tyler had sent him the location of another party, insisting he come. But all Noah could think about was whether Julian would be there. Whether he wanted him to be there. Whether he was ready for whatever this thing between them was turning into.
And when he finally walked into the crowded loft, the first person he saw—standing by the window, angelic as ever—was Julian.
Julian looked up, their eyes locking across the room. Sparks—icy, electric—flared in the air between them.
And this time, neither of them looked away.