Midnight sun

32 | Dylan

"I booked my flight for LAX. It's tomorrow," Noah says in my ear, as I clutch the phone harder and let anxiety begin to fester in the pit of my stomach. It also doesn't help that I have to work today.

I'm clearly regretting not staying with Noah last night but it was all just a bit too much. The desperation of our fucking didn't surprise me at all. Everything had spiralled out of our control in the last twenty-four hours and I was feeling aimless. But as badly as I need to not feel those emotions, because all this is not about me, those walls started closing down around me in order to protect myself.

I had to leave his bed otherwise I would have chained Noah to it and never let him leave. If I tasted his lips one more time I don't think I would've been able to ever stop. Because I couldn't remember it being that good before. I couldn't remember this need to crawl out of my skin and bury myself under his so we'd never have to be apart again.

I took comfort in the promises we made to each other. Every time we were together, it felt like Noah was saying things to me without the use of words, but I couldn't be sure. And then I saw those sketches and I just knew. I knew that we were meant to be.

"I'll drive you to the airport," I say to him, closing my laptop to focus on the conversation.

"But you're working."

"I'll try to finish everything I can today," I swear I would offer to go with him to LA but none of us know how long he will need to stay there and I can't just abandon my team without a notice or a replacement that takes time to find.

"Thanks... Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

"You left last night... Everything ok?"

My stomach knots instantly as I gulp. "Yeah, yeah... I'm..."

I stop and clear my throat. "I was just being so fucking stupid. Had all these things on my mind and had to clear my head."

I'm really good at hiding my emotions from the outside world. Almost frighteningly so. I've learned to be a fucking statue half the time. But not from Noah. Like I already told him, Noah is my every exception. "I regret it now because I... I miss you already."

"It's ok," he whispers, finally breaking the silence. "Phones are a thing, you know. I'll call. We'll talk all the time. And it might all be over quickly."

I guess that's what I'm scared of the most–the unknown. He shouldn't be thinking how long it will last, he should focus on the time he has left with his mother, because he needs to find peace with himself.

I hope that whatever Paul meant wasn't going to backfire on me. I have to trust Noah with this–pushing him into staying here would eventually make him resent me, not to mention that I would hate influencing him for my own benefit. I need to treat him like a grown man, not a child. I also need to get a grip and stop thinking about myself. I truly wish he gets all the answers he deserves for the sake of his mental health.

After a short conversation about how the company will deal with Noah's absence, we end the call and I bury myself in work.

It's late when I pass my doorstep, so late that Noah's truck is already parked where I shovelled the snow off the driveway. It takes a torturous eternity to find my voice when I find him in my kitchen, making dinner for us.

When he hears me enter, his face pivots to look at me and I notice a sad smile, like he's overwhelmed with the situation too but trying hard to keep it casual. "It's nothing glamorous, just pasta." 

I hurry to wrap my arms around his waist from behind and drop a kiss to his bare skin where neck meets shoulder.

"You smell good." It comes out muffled against his skin. His scent is intoxicating to me, faint traces of something so masculine and sweet. I don't let go, not giving a shit about the pasta. My stormy emotions settle after a beat, and Noah turns to me, his right hand inches closer to my face.

"I'm sorry I left you last night," I murmur. "I'm sorry for being selfish and making it all about me when it's you who needs my support."

"You're the least selfish person in the world, Dylan," he exhales, pauses for a moment, wetting his lips. "I'm not your ex, this is not the end. This is only the beginning, you know that? This is⁠—"

"I know," I can't let him finish his sentence. It would hurt too much. What I want—what Noah wants—there just has to be a different time for it. I used to hear people all the time saying love isn't always enough, and I thought that was bullshit. Until right this moment. I have fallen. Foolishly, helplessly, I was head over heels in just a manner of weeks, days maybe, and there was nothing I could have done to stop it. Noah feels like my other half, and I'd never even believed in that sort of thing before. And now I can count the hours until he'll be away, dealing with another gut-wrenching loss and I feel like someone is ripping my heart out and feeding it to me, bit by bit.

He lets out an unsteady breath. "Come on, let's eat."

After we finish our food, I quickly shower and join Noah on the sofa in front of the fire. He hesitates for a moment before speaking.

"I don't know how long it will take." Regret is darkening his eyes. "I don't know when I'll be back," he whispers.

"What are you saying?"

"I was honest when I said that I'll call, but if you ever feel...lonely or..."

"You don't think I'll wait for you."

"That's–I can't ask you to do that. It's not fair."

I lean forward, bringing my face to Noah's. "I care for you, Noah. So much." I hear Noah's gulp, see the way his eyes brighten like the sun. "You don't have to ask me to wait for you. Just know that I will."

Noah grabs my hand, fingers tight.

"Anything I can do to help? Whatever you need me to do for you, just ask."

"Just hold me," Noah says after a long while. After my arms tighten around him, one thought, one sentence from Paul comes back to me, and it's stuck on repeat in my head, keeping me restless. He shouldn't go there.

"Noah, what was the reason you came to Alaska?" I don't remember if I ever asked him directly this question before, most of the time I was blinded by my infatuation with him. And maybe I'm being insensitive asking about it at this time but I need to know if I should worry about something else.

"I needed a job. And a change of scenery after Maya's death. My uncle offered so I thought why not..."

There's something in those eyes that I can't decipher. He's lying about why he's here, that much is obvious. I am absolutely not buying that he chose to come all the way here to get a job. But I'd made peace with not knowing certain things about him because I knew in my heart that I saw the real him. The parts of himself that he allows me to see are the honest, genuine parts; his hopes and dreams, his love for art, memories that he cherished, and the things he did tell me about were things he'd never shared with anyone. I believed him.

"Ok, Noah," I say because there's nothing else I could do. Then I search his eyes. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

He is frowning, looking somewhere out the window where the darkness looms, obviously trying to avoid eye contact.

"Can I tell you everything when I return?" The question is filled with so much fear and anguish.

I nod and feel so many words that are left unsaid. So many hopes and wishes, his and mine. I close my eyes when Noah smudges a kiss across my temple, and then I open them and stare at the fireplace, watching all of those wishes fly away in streaks of fire.

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