Midnight sun

37 | Dylan

The flight isn't as long as I need it to be. It isn't long enough to quell the hurricane of feelings unfurling inside my chest. It isn't long enough to tune out the never-ending fight between my head and my heart.  Logic told me this isn't what normal people do. They don't just jump on a plane for the first time,  travelling beyond state lines for the first time, looking for a man who obviously doesn't want to be found. Logic told me that I was looking for a needle in a haystack.

But my heart didn't care. My heart was his and had been since the moment I laid eyes on him. It was his to wreck and to ruin if he wanted to. So when the plane lands I tell my stupid heart to calm the fuck down and let my brain focus on what I came here to do–bring my boy back home.

Even though I know exactly where I am, I feel utterly lost in my surroundings. For the past hour or so, I've seen nothing but busy highways, never-ending palm trees, and fast food restaurants on every other block. Hotels and more hotels. I am officially in a state where warmth and sunshine are a certainty, completely opposite from where I just came from. Even though it was February I shucked off two layers of clothes as soon as I left the plane. And the people? I might as well be on another planet.

I'm not a detective but I'm a stubborn man when I set my mind to something. And my mind is always going to be set on Noah. After that random phone call in the middle of the night going back to sleep was pointless. I called in sick for the first time in my life and got to another type of work. Every little information I had about where Noah was, like the name of the center where his mother was hospitalized, the obituary and who was at her funeral. I even asked Paul to send me all the photos Noah sent him. I analyzed every single little detail.

And that's how I found myself in LA in front of this house in Hollywood Hills. Surrounded by the lush landscaping this residence is a testament to luxurious California living at its finest. But I am too exhausted to be nervous about what I am about to do or worry about making a fool of myself. Without hesitation I'm ringing the doorbell hoping the woman that I've seen in pictures with Noah, more than once, opens and gives me some answers.

Quicker than I expected she opens the door and stares at me expectantly as my gaze takes her in. She is dressed in nothing but yoga pants and a tight sports top, her long brown hair haphazardly tied at the top of her head, and her face makeup-free. She looks like she's just leaving the house for a run.

"Morning. Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you could help me," I try with nonchalance and add a bit of charm to it–at this stage I'm not above flirting to get what I want.

"I was at one of your parties last month?" I don't miss the way her eyes follow me, hungrily tracking the length of my body.

"Oh, were you? I'm sure I'd remember you."

I smile. "I didn't stay long, had to go to my friend's house. There was someone I met at your party, that I was hoping I could talk to again. Like I said, I didn't have time and he just ran off on me. It's kind of important, he has something of mine."

She listens with focus and looks at my phone when I show her the picture of Noah and her with smiling faces that he sent to his uncle not long ago. "Do you know him well?"

She eyes me, and her face lights up. "Oh. I understand now."

I certainly don't, but I sure hope that she gives me some clues. "Do you know where he lives?"

"You must be desperate," she says as she moves around me. "I don't know where he lives but he'll be at my party, this Saturday. And I'm sure he'll have that thing you need." She winks, and starts running off.

"Wait! Can I get an invite?"

She turns around and looks at me surprised. "How did you get it last time?"

I realize my mistake and start retreating to my rental car. I don't care about this woman and what she might be thinking. At least I know where he is going to be and when.

My days are pretty uneventful as Saturday rolls around. But on the day, as I make my way down the noisy, tree-lined street, my instincts kick in and I park my car four houses down from where the party is happening but with a clear view of the door. I never saw him come in but he must be in there. For hours I'm patiently waiting for him to leave the house. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I'm trying to see, but failing. The mix of fear and despair is crushing as the reality of what I am doing hits me. I'm starting to doubt myself and this plan. When the morning sun rises over the LA valley I'm sure I have missed him however the constant flow of people gives me hope that he is in fact inside this place.

And then.

Oh God. That face. That dark hair. I freeze in place, feeling everything–the aching, the longing, the love–it all comes flooding back. The sky is tainted with a kaleidoscope of the warmest, most aesthetic hues, illuminating his hard features. There is no smile on his face. But that's him, I have found him.

It takes every bit of my resolve to not get out of this car and run to him. But suddenly it hits me that I had never seen Noah looking like this. I finally let my gaze trail down his body. Because I can see almost everything with the way his black sheer shirt is undone and his tailored-fit pants hug his ass and crotch leaving almost nothing to the imagination. I take in the hard planes of his chest, the pebbled peaks of his nipples, his sun-touched skin and rippling muscle. Never have I seen Noah looking like that, although I always thought he would look amazing in anything, a construction worker uniform or expensive designer shit like this.

He shakes his head when some girl approaches him and hurries down the footpath, entering a car that is already parked there, clearly waiting for him. There is no other option but to follow that car.

Along the way I'm wracking my brain with the little information I have so far. I just can't believe he works here, and if he does what does his job entail dressed like that. I follow the car but the further I go the seedier it looks. Up until a certain point, when I see them slowing down in front of a building, I park in a tucked away corner behind some dumpsters.

I simply watch Noah get inside the building followed by the driver of his car and another man of similar age that I wasn't aware was riding with them. I wait a few minutes and slowly make my way towards the building. This place is a slum. The sidewalk reeks like years of faded beer and piss.

As I round the corner where the entrance is, I expect that I have to ring an intercom but that isn't the case which makes me happy. Just before I go inside the driver exits the building without noticing me and walks back towards his car. I give the small building a discreet scan before yanking the door open, plunging me into the dark corridor with four apartment doors.

My exterior is calm even while my insides flutter with nerves and heartache. The last couple of months have been the worst I'd ever lived and that phone call still haunts me, so I can't wait another second without knowing what made him cry for help. I start by knocking on the first door.

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