The restaurant had gone quiet around them, or maybe it was just Julian's mind muting out the noise, tuning into nothing but Noah—the way his shoulders trembled under Julian's embrace, the way his fingers twisted helplessly into the fabric of Julian's hoodie as though he was afraid to let go.
Julian held him tighter. He didn't care that people were staring, that the server in the corner had frozen mid-step with a tray, unsure whether to intrude. He didn't care about the muffled whispers from another table. All that mattered was that Noah was here, unraveling in his arms, trusting him with pieces of himself no one else seemed to see.
"Noah," Julian whispered, his cheek pressed against the top of Noah's head. The boy's curls smelled faintly like clean soap and something sharp beneath, cologne maybe, but now it was mixed with the salt of tears. "You don't have to say anything else, not if it hurts. Just… let me hold you, okay?"
Noah exhaled shakily, as if he had been holding his breath for years. "I don't… I don't know how to stop," he murmured against Julian's chest, his voice breaking in ways that made Julian's stomach twist. "It's like I've been waiting for this crack to split me open. And now that it's here, I can't shove it back in."
Julian's throat went dry. He tightened his arms, afraid Noah would shatter if he loosened even a fraction. "You don't have to shove it back in. Not with me. I swear."
For a long moment, Noah stayed like that, just clinging, face hidden, shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Julian had never seen him like this. The boy who carried himself like fire and stone, who strutted through school with that sharp tongue and sharper smile, was now trembling against him, all sharp edges dulled by grief.
Julian slowly eased them both back into their seats, though his hand never left Noah's. He kept their fingers locked together, rubbing gentle circles over Noah's knuckles as if to remind him he wasn't alone.
"You don't get it," Noah said finally, pulling in a harsh breath. His silver-and-green eyes flicked up, glassy and raw. "People don't want to hear this. My grandparents? They only care about image. About the last name. Not about me. And my parents—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like the words were knives on his tongue.
Julian leaned forward, searching his face. "What about them?"
"They hate me." The words came out cracked, jagged. "Not in the way you think—like shouting or beating. No. It's quieter. Deadlier. They hate who I am. Who I love. What I'll never be. Every time I walk into the room, I see it on their faces—disgust. And sometimes I think…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes I think maybe I really am everything they say I am. Broken. Wrong."
Julian's chest seized. Without thinking, he reached across the table, framing Noah's jaw with his free hand, forcing those trembling eyes to meet his. "Don't—don't you ever say that about yourself. You're not broken. You're not wrong. You're—" He swallowed hard, fighting to steady his own voice. "You're Noah. And that's enough. More than enough."
Noah blinked at him, wide-eyed, as if he couldn't quite believe the words.
Something inside Julian ached so fiercely it was unbearable. He wanted to grab every cruel word ever spoken to Noah and tear them apart, one by one. He wanted to fight his parents, his grandparents, every single person who had ever made Noah feel small.
Instead, all he could do was hold him tighter.
Julian squeezed Noah's hand, then leaned across the table until their foreheads touched. His breath mingled with Noah's, their noses brushing, their closeness trembling on the edge of something Julian hadn't dared put into words.
"You're not alone anymore," Julian whispered. "Not while I'm here. Not ever."
For a moment, Noah didn't move. His lashes fluttered against Julian's cheek, damp and heavy. Then, with the tiniest, most fragile sound, he exhaled and let his head tilt until his temple rested fully against Julian's.
It was quiet again—quiet in a way that didn't suffocate.
Julian closed his eyes, ignoring the way his heart was racing out of his chest, ignoring how dangerously intimate this was. It didn't matter. Right now, all that mattered was Noah. Always Noah.
Julian pulled back just enough to look at Noah properly. His eyes were rimmed red, lashes still damp, but Julian could feel the weight pressing down between them and it hurt. He needed to lift it, even if just for a moment.
So he cleared his throat, putting on a serious expression. "You know… I think the waiter's scared of us."
Noah blinked at him, dazed. "What?"
Julian leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "He's been hovering over there for ten minutes trying to figure out if we're about to order… or start a public therapy session. I swear, if we sit here any longer, he's going to bring us free tissues instead of food."
It was ridiculous, completely out of place—but that was the point. Noah stared at him for a beat, lips parting, and then a laugh slipped out. Choked at first, wet with tears, but then fuller, louder. His whole face lit up, breaking through the storm cloud hanging over him.
Julian felt his heart slam against his ribs. Too fast. Too hard. He'd thought Noah was handsome before, but seeing him laugh like this, through tears, unguarded and raw—it nearly knocked him out.
"You're—" Noah shook his head, trying to wipe his face with the back of his hand, still laughing. "You're such an idiot, Jules."
"Yeah, but I made you laugh," Julian said, unable to stop the grin tugging at his lips.
That laugh stayed with him, even as the waiter timidly approached, and they finally ordered something—simple plates neither of them touched much, but enough to settle them. The heaviness between them wasn't gone, but Julian could see the shift in Noah's shoulders, a little less tense, a little easier.
When they left the restaurant, Julian grabbed Noah's hockey bags without asking. "Jules, you don't have to—"
"Shut up, I'm stronger than I look," Julian shot back, slinging them over his shoulder with mock bravado. Noah chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, but he didn't stop him.
Back at the Ainsworth house, the kitchen lights were still on. Julian's mom noticed the redness around Noah's eyes instantly. She paused, concern flickering, but instead of asking questions, she smiled warmly.
"Ah, mijo, you need food for later," she said, bustling over. Before Noah could argue, she packed a bunch of containers into a bag and pressed it into his hands. "For when you're too tired to cook, okay?"
Noah's throat worked, and he mumbled something like "thank you" in a voice that cracked.
Julian's chest tightened at the sight.
Outside, in the driveway, Julian carried Noah's bags to the trunk and heaved them inside. The night air was cool, quiet except for the crickets, and for a second, Julian didn't want him to leave.
"There," Julian said, brushing his hands off. "You're all set."
Noah turned to him, standing close enough that Julian could see the reflection of the porch light in his strange, beautiful eyes. For a moment, he hesitated, lips parting like he wanted to say something. Then, before Julian could even process it, Noah leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
Julian froze. Completely froze.
"Goodnight, Jules," Noah murmured, and then slipped into the car like nothing had happened.
The engine roared to life, taillights glowing red as Noah backed out of the driveway and drove off.
Julian stood there, hand half-raised to his cheek, his entire face burning. His heart was still hammering, faster than it had all evening.
"Holy shit," he whispered to himself, utterly flustered.