Devil's Eye

Chapter 15

5' 8"-5' 9"

That compulsive cleaning attempt was a true challenge for a person who had recently been crying his eyes out until he got a headache and drank more alcohol than he originally planned. Dirty clothes didn't fit into the basket, and the number of things that weren't in their place made Morgan grunt through his teeth helplessly. Noah wasn't a messy person, but sometimes he became so apathetic that even simple chores, like running a washing machine or cleaning the table, felt too difficult—almost impossible for him. Then his flat would become a chaotic mess.

During the past half of the day, Noah didn't have much time to destroy the flat, so much so that it needed a deep clean. Though, in Morgan's opinion, it was too dirty to host the guests. That was what he was trying to fix right now. Noah cleaned the table, stuffed the clothes into the half-empty drawers, and started doing the dishes when the doorbell rang. Noah flinched, turned off the water, and shuffled to open the door. He would run to Ethan, but he felt too dizzy. Morgan was about to open the door when he froze and looked in the peephole cautiously. His phone number was leaked online today, so he wouldn't be surprised if his address was next in line. However, there was no one outside the door, besides bored Ethan. Noah opened the door and tried to smile. He was truly happy to see Thomson, even though his mood was, more or less, down in the dumps and his eyes were still a bit red.

"Hi," Ethan nodded and gave Morgan a bag with ice cream.

"Hey, come in," Noah stepped aside to give Ethan space to enter, "Would you like something to drink? I have a half bottle of wine left," Morgan suggested while going to the table to unpack the ice cream. He was drunk, but he tried his best to look sober. It wasn't his first bottle of wine that he had already finished that night. Everything would sometimes get blurry in front of Noah. He put all his effort into not losing balance. The same effort helped Morgan walk straight; however, because of the alcohol, Noah felt his apartment moving like a ship's cabin that ended up in a storm.

"I don't drink," Ethan reminded calmly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Noah mumbled embarrassedly. Thomson could get the impression that Morgan would never listen to him and didn't remember anything about him. That, of course, wasn't true. Noah listened to him carefully. Noah remembered everything. He didn't like sweets. He didn't drink alcohol. He liked his coffee salted. At that moment, Morgan thought of himself as a hard-working student who had studied thoroughly for the exam but forgot everything because his examiner was too handsome.

Ethan didn't seem offended; he just shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe some coffee then? Or tea? Or some juice?" Morgan scurried as much as he could in his condition.

"Tea is fine," Ethan chose.

"Green or black?"

"Black."

"With or without sugar?"

"Obviously, no sugar."

"Hot or diluted?"

"Hot," Ethan answered, observing Noah carefully, "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Morgan answered nervously.

"You're all wrought up," Ethan objected. Noah looked at him and felt a lump growing in his throat again. No, he wasn't about to cry in front of Ethan. He had cried enough, feeling sorry for himself. He didn't want to do it publicly. He didn't want Ethan to come up to him and promise to protect him from all of that. He didn't want Thomson to hug Noah and rumple his hair reassuringly. He didn't want support, a human's touch, or even the slightest feeling of safety.

Noah didn't want all of that.

Noah was lying to himself brutally.

Morgan inhaled soundly, trying to balance his emotional state. To slow himself down. He would always do that when he understood that he was balancing on the verge of hysteria. He slowed himself down. His moves would become voluntarily slower. His breath was calm. His thoughts were simple. He forced his internal breaks to stop a stimulus to make fast or nervous moves, since that could only emphasize the excitability of his nervous system. Noah made Ethan some tea calmly, feeling the storm inside him slowing down. The joy didn't last long, though. Noah's phone was lying on the table with the screen facing down. It was muted. However, the screen would flare up every time there was an incoming phone, which was visible because of the frame of light between the phone and the table. It had already appeared several times, and Noah, after noticing it again, couldn't deal with that internal pressure anymore. His heart started banging like a drum, his hands were shaking, and tears, like fire, were coming up. Noah immediately switched his attention to the phone. To that anonymous chat. To all of the mocking that he had been bearing way too long. Why was it happening to him? Why did he deserve all of that? Noah went deep into his thoughts so fast that he completely forgot about the tea cup that he was holding in his hands.