Noah woke up the next morning with the weight of last night still clinging to him like a second skin. He could still feel the wetness on his cheeks, the crack in his voice, the way Julian's eyes softened when he almost—almost—reached out to him.
But he couldn't think about that. He wouldn't.
So when Julian opened the door for him later that afternoon, Noah shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket and muttered, "Hey… about yesterday. Let's just pretend it didn't happen, yeah?"
Julian's brows knit for a fraction of a second, but then he shrugged. "Fine. If that's what you want."
And just like that, the moment was buried under a pile of unspoken words.
They worked quietly for a while at Julian's desk, laptops open, textbooks scattered between them. Noah couldn't help himself; the silence itched at him.
"You're too serious, Jules," he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair with a grin.
Julian blinked. "...Jules?"
"Yeah," Noah smirked. "What? You don't like it? Fits you better than 'Julian Ainsworth.' That's too stiff. You need something easier. Cooler."
Julian rolled his eyes, trying to hide the faintest flicker of pink on his ears. "It's childish."
"Childish, huh? Don't worry, Jules. I'll make it catch on."
Noah said it again and again as the hours passed, dropping it into their conversation until it stuck like glue. Jules, hand me that. Jules, stop overthinking. Jules, you're kind of a nerd.
And every time Julian would huff, but he never corrected him.
Noah's phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the rhythm. Tyler's name flashed across the screen.
He picked up. "Yo, what's up?"
Tyler's voice blasted through the speaker. "Coach wants you in the gym. Now. Don't make me drag your ass here."
Noah sighed, running a hand down his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there. Chill." He hung up, then glanced at Julian.
"Coach wants to see me," he muttered. "Come with me, Jules. You can keep me from dying of boredom."
Julian snorted. "I'm not your emotional support nerd."
"Sure you are," Noah shot back, already grabbing his jacket. "C'mon. You'll get to see me in my natural habitat."
The gym was buzzing when they arrived. The team was mid-drill, sneakers squeaking, pucks smacking against sticks and boards. Tyler jogged over, sweat dripping down his temple.
Tyler grinned when he spotted Julian trailing behind Noah. "Ohhh, you brought backup."
"Shut up," Noah muttered, giving him a light shove.
Tyler just laughed and ruffled his own hair. "Relax, man. Coach just wants to go over strategy before Saturday. And don't look at me like that—my girlfriend's already waiting for me after practice."
Julian tilted his head. "Girlfriend?"
Tyler smirked proudly. "Well, girlfriends, technically. Long story. But yeah—I'm very, very straight. No need to glare at me like I'm gonna steal your boy here."
Julian's face heated instantly, while Noah barked out a laugh. "Damn, Jules, you hear that? Even Tyler knows you're obsessed with me."
Julian shoved his glasses up his nose, ignoring him. "You're insufferable."
Noah just grinned wider. "Maybe. But I'm your insufferable."
And for the first time that day, Julian didn't argue.
Julian hadn't expected to stay long. He thought Noah would talk to his coach, maybe run a drill or two, and then they'd leave. But instead, he found himself leaning against the bleachers, his laptop bag still slung over his shoulder, watching Noah step onto the rink like it was his throne.
And God—Noah changed there.
The Noah he knew was sharp edges, sarcasm, hot temper, that cocky grin that never let anyone too close. But here… here he was focus and fire. His voice carried across the ice, instructing his teammates with authority that surprised Julian.
"Ty, cut tighter on that corner. You're dragging the line."
"Reed, watch your spacing—if you're crowding me, the play collapses."
"Good—again. Let's run it cleaner."
He stood tall, shoulders squared, every move commanding. The coach barely interrupted—only nodded, occasionally chiming in—because Noah had already taken control.
Julian didn't blink. Not once.
He couldn't.
Something about seeing Noah so sure of himself, so alive, stripped away the reckless mess he usually projected. It was magnetic, almost unbearable. His chest tightened, his fingers itched. And for one dangerous second, Julian wondered what it would feel like if Noah looked at him that way—with that raw focus, that drive, that fire.
As if answering the thought, Noah's eyes flicked to the bleachers mid-instruction.
He caught him staring.
And smirked.
Julian felt his face heat instantly, but he didn't look away. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. The smirk lingered, crooked and knowing, before Noah turned back to his team like nothing happened.
Julian's pulse didn't slow for the rest of practice.
The evening air was cooler when they finally left the gym. Their sneakers crunched against the sidewalk, the streetlights flickering on one by one.
Noah shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing sideways. "So, Jules…"
Julian groaned. "Don't start."
"You were staring."
"I wasn't."
"You didn't blink for like… thirty minutes." Noah's smirk spread slow and infuriating. "Should I be flattered? Or concerned?"
Julian adjusted his glasses, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "I was observing. That's what smart people do. Observe."
"Observing me, huh?" Noah leaned closer, voice dropping teasingly. "Guess I really am your favorite subject."
Julian scoffed, but his ears were red. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Oh, I don't have to," Noah chuckled. "You do it for me."
Julian shoved him lightly with his shoulder, but Noah only laughed harder, his breath fogging in the cool air.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel snapped the moment in half.
A sleek black sedan slowed to a stop right next to them, tinted windows glinting under the streetlight. The passenger-side window rolled down smoothly, revealing a man in his forties with sharp eyes and a crisp suit.
"Noah," the man said, voice calm but firm. "It's late. Your grandparents want you home."
Julian froze. His first thought: Bodyguard.
Noah's jaw tightened instantly. His easy grin vanished, replaced by a scowl so sharp it could cut glass.
"Jesus Christ," Noah muttered. "You again."
The man's gaze flicked briefly to Julian before returning to Noah. "Get in the car. Don't make this difficult."
Julian's stomach twisted. This wasn't just some driver. This was surveillance. Control. Chains wrapped in black leather and tinted glass.
Noah's laugh was bitter. "Tell my dear grandparents they can shove it. I'm walking."
The man didn't flinch. "Noah—"
"I said I'm walking."
For a heartbeat, the air was thick, tense, suffocating. The car idled, engine humming low, headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Julian could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest.
Finally, the man exhaled through his nose, curt. "Fine. But I'll be close."
The window slid back up, and the car pulled forward slowly, tailing them from a distance.
Julian stared, disbelief flickering across his face. "…Was that—?"
"My fucking babysitter," Noah snapped, his voice raw with anger. "Grandparents' idea of keeping me in line. More like keeping me in a cage."
Julian opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say something—comfort, sympathy, anything—but Noah's expression stopped him cold.
Because beneath the fury was something else.
Something that looked a hell of a lot like pain.