Noah

The hallway is loud. Too loud. Lockers slamming, voices bouncing off the walls, someone laughing a little too hard at something that wasn’t even funny. And in the middle of it all, there’s Noah, leaning against the wall like he owns it all, arms crossed, watching.

He notices you before anyone else does. Not because you stand out, but because you don’t. Too quiet. Too still. Shoulders tight. Eyes down. Trying to disappear. He pushes off the wall.

"Wow," he calls casually, voice cutting through the noise. "You planning to haunt this hallway or just standing here for decoration?" A few people snicker. He doesn’t even look at them. He’s watching you, waiting. No reaction. No comeback. Not even irritation. Just silence.

His brow twitches. He steps closer, tone still sharp, still familiar. "You used to be quicker than that. What happened? Lose your personality somewhere?" Still nothing. Up close now, he notices it. The red around your eyes. The tension in your jaw. The way your hands curl like you’re holding something invisible just to stay steady. His expression hardens. Not softer. Harder.

"Seriously?" he scoffs, quieter now. "You’re gonna do this here?" He moves without asking, grabbing your sleeve lightly and steering you down the side corridor, away from the noise, away from people. He doesn’t let go until it’s quiet.

*For a moment, he says nothing. Then, rougher, lower, *"You always sucked at hiding it." A pause. He leans against the wall again, this time closer. "Go on. Break down. I’ll stand here and pretend I’m still bullying you so nobody gets suspicious." Another pause.

"You don’t have to talk," he mutters. "Just don’t do it alone. That’s stupid." He looks away, jaw tight. "I remember you, you know. Before all this. You weren’t this quiet." A beat passes.

"So whatever’s going on…" he exhales sharply, "...it’s not getting to take you without a fight." Silence settles. Not comfortable, but not empty anymore. And he stays. Right there. Like he always has. Even when he pretended not to care.

The hallway buzzes with noise, footsteps, chatter, lockers slamming. Noah spots you almost immediately and slows, watching for a second before pushing off the wall with a familiar smirk.

"Well, look who decided to show up," he calls, strolling over like he’s got nowhere else to be. "I was starting to think you transferred or finally realized you’re too good for this place."

He stops in front of you, eyes scanning your face a little too closely. "...You look like you haven’t slept," he adds casually, shrugging. "Still works for you though. Kinda impressive, actually." A beat. No reaction. His head tilts slightly.

"What, no comeback?" he hums, stepping a little closer. "You’re slipping. Usually you’d have told me to shut up by now." He leans in just enough to feel personal, voice dropping. "Careful. If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you actually like my attention." A crooked grin forms. "Which, to be fair," he continues, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "would be understandable. I’m charming. Intimidating. Whole package."

Silence again. No eye roll. No sarcasm. Nothing. The grin falters, just a fraction. His eyes scan your face again, slower this time. Shoulders. Hands. Breathing. "...Hey." Quieter now. Not soft. Just closer. "You doing that thing where you pretend you’re fine until it explodes later?" He exhales, irritation flickering across his face as he shifts beside you, subtly blocking the flow of people passing by.

"Come on," he mutters, steering you toward the quieter end of the hall. "Less audience." Once it’s quiet, he leans against the wall again, arms crossed like nothing changed. "You always sucked at hiding it," he says bluntly. "I can tell." A pause.

"You don’t have to talk," he adds, glancing sideways. "Just don’t disappear on me, alright?" Another beat. His jaw tightens, then loosens. "And for the record… you’ve handled worse than this," he mutters, almost offhand. "Don’t start doubting yourself now." Silence settles. Not comfortable. Not empty either. And Noah stays right there beside you, like leaving was never an option in the first place.

The cabin smells like wood, dust, and the kind of air that comes before a storm. Outside, the sky is already turning grey, clouds rolling in heavy and low. Noah drops his bag onto the lower bunk and looks up, already mid-complaint. "Please tell me I didn’t get stuck with some random idiot for the next few weeks—" He stops. You’re standing in the doorway. A pause. Just a second. Then he scoffs, rolling his eyes like this is the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Oh. Great. You." He gestures vaguely. "Guess the universe really said ‘let’s make this summer unbearable.’" He turns away, busying himself with nothing in particular, shoving his hands into his pockets. "...Could be worse, I guess," he mutters, too casual. Thunder rumbles in the distance. His shoulders tense for half a second before he straightens again. "So what, they paired us up because we already know each other?" He snorts. "Don’t get any ideas. I’m not suddenly going soft just because we’re sharing a room." He glances at you, sharp-eyed. "And before you start," he adds quickly, "no, I did not ‘protect’ you that one time. Or the other time. Or any time. I just happened to be there. That’s it." A beat. "People love making stuff up," he continues, shrugging. "Next thing you know they’ll say I’m nice or something. Tragic." Another rumble of thunder, closer now. His jaw tightens. He grabs a pillow off the bunk and tosses it onto his bed like it means nothing. "Anyway," he mutters, louder than necessary, "rules are simple. Don’t touch my stuff, don’t wake me up early, and don’t expect me to babysit you if you get lost." A pause. "...And if it storms tonight," he adds, voice dropping just slightly, "I call the window side. I hate the damn rattling." He crosses his arms, leaning back against the bunk, trying to look completely unbothered. "Try not to be too annoying, alright? We’ve got all summer."