Hello my lovelies, how are you this fine evening? Or morning? Morning is the evening for most of us, anyway. I hope you enjoy what I'm… going to write for you xD I'm writing the introduction before I write the story, but I do have quite the detailed outline, so fear not! I am prepared! This chapter is actually not as light-hearted as the summary makes out the story to be, but don't worry, it shall be in later chapters. Right now you'll have to deal with something that was as abrupt and unexpected to you as it was to me.


Noah slid his nail slowly along the contours of his chin, trying dutifully to wipe off the sticky red fructose that stuck to his face. Not achieving this successfully with the lollipop still trapped between his lips, he popped it out and held it between his pointer and middle fingers, licking one to better accomplish his task.

He approached the door hesitantly, and shoved the lollipop back into his mouth to chomp on the remains, discarding the stick in a nearby trashcan. Taking his wrist, he diligently rubbed it back and forth against his face, standing on his toes and peeking at his reflection against his apartment's window to see if all the stickiness had disappeared. Adam's eye caught his as he peered in, and immediately he ducked under the window and clutched his briefcase tighter, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. Adam did not have him whipped, he definitely did not have him whipped.

"Afternoon, darling," Noah smiled brightly upon stepping into the apartment. Adam's blonde hair fell in front of his eyes in dirty strands as he leaned over his desk, his neck uncomfortably craned above what seemed to be a thick pile of papers. His small, pout lips mumbled a quiet hello without a single glance at his roommate. Noah held in a sigh that heavily sat within his chest, and he made his way over to the other side of the room, depositing his briefcase onto the soft twin bed shoved against the corner. "How was school?"

Adam's back vaguely moved back and forth with each motion of his red pen. "Great," he answered dryly, a bit louder since Noah was now across the room. A muted light sat coyly on the desk, allowing a dim orange to glow over the pale pair of long, slim hands. The window outside drew in bits and pieces of faint sunlight, the colorless curtains lazily drawn in an askew fashion. The chirping from outside seemed to sting Noah's ears, and his eyes winced nearly every time he heard the sound. His hands gripped the off-white comforter, the sweat that had pooled around his palms sticking to the pulpy fabric. Noah closed his eyes slowly, squeezing them and clenching his fists. He didn't let out the sigh. "Did work go well?"

"Work went fine," he responded almost immediately, his eyes still closed. Adam turned around curiously, his jaded eyes settling upon Noah's pale face and twisted expression. His entire body was halfway facing the seemingly troubled young man, and he gripped the ends of the chair, resting his chin on the back. Noah unclenched his fist and breathed out calmly, opening his eyes to suddenly stare straight at the reflection of sunlight inside of Adam's reading glasses. Noah attempted a weak smile.

Adam smiled back. "What's on your chin?" he asked softly, careful in case Noah had another migraine he refused to admit to. Noah's small, delicate fingers were raised to his chin, and again he tried to scratch off the lollipop residue. His nails dug into his skin, and he scratched harder and harder until his nails broke the skin and blood was trickling down his face. He glanced at the blob of red that sat on his thumb, and he ignored it, continuing to scratch at himself. Adam pushed back the chair and quickly walked over to Noah, kneeling down under him and gently seizing both his wrists. Noah's lower lip quivered as he met eyes with Adam, and soon looked away. His throat felt like it was filled with cotton, and he didn't seem to be able to know how to move his fingers anymore.

He closed his eyes and twitched when smooth fingers wiped away the blood. Soon footsteps were heard stepping across the room and into the kitchen, where a cabinet was opened and closed, and soon enough, the footsteps were making their way back to him. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" the warm breath tickled his ear, and again he felt another hand close around his wrist as a rough napkin trudged against his face. Noah whispered that nothing was wrong, and he opened his eyes, making sure not to make contact with the clear, shiny glasses that so cleanly settled on Adam's small, freckled nose. "Okay," Adam said, getting up and making his away back to his desk.

Noah was alone again. The persistent scraping of the pen echoed in his ears, and again Adam silently sat, ignoring him. Evidently nothing was wrong, thus he would treat the problem as if nothing was wrong. There were papers to read, papers to grade, papers to discuss with those who didn't mind discussing shit with him. His glasses kept trying to slide off his nose the more he leaned over, and he pushed them back habitually, ignoring the fact that if he sat up straighter, they would stop sliding. Yet, the farther he leaned forward, the farther he was from everything else.

The pen stopped moving, and it was like a large vase sat in the corner of the dimly lit room, and the less noise made, the more a sharp crack dug deeper into the glass. Deeper it dug, and the moment the pen lay stationary, the vase broke open, and its contents spilled into the small room, silence flooding the two boys, silence drowning their thin bodies and forcing its way down their throats, choking them, tying itself around their necks so they couldn't speak, so their faces tinted purple and their eyes bulged as their mouths tried to open, and they desperately tried to gasp for air.

Birds began to chirp again. Adam released his face from the sanctuary of his clammy hands, and picked up his pen to continue grading. Noah pushed himself off the bed and silently strolled into the kitchen, pausing, his heart beating faster as his knees struggled to stay straight, and his body struggled to not fall down hard on the clean, tiled floor. Sickly yellow wallpaper covered the walls, and the room began to spin, everything meshing together into what seemed to follow his every step. Noah lifted his foot doubtfully, and he gripped a dining room chair to help his balance. Soon enough a crash emanated from the kitchen, and Adam got up so fast that his own chair fell to the floor.

Blood was dribbling from Noah's head, staining his messy dark hair as it adulterated the unblinking white floor. His nose felt smushed, and his wrists shook as he pressed them against the ground in an effort to get up. Stop trying, stop trying, stop trying to move. The voice got louder each second, and soon the frantic yelling seemed to be everywhere, filling the room, bouncing off the walls and against his head, against his body, smashing his back, trying to force him back down to the floor.

The frantic yelling was then gone, and now instead of his wrists, everything shook. Noah was rocked back and forth, and arms wrapped around his bruised chest. Muffled commands were whispered in his ear, the voice they belonged to breaking as they became more adamant, more demanding. The voice tried to sound angry, but instead it sounded wet, it sounded tired and strained. Noah kept rocking back and forth. His eyes tried to flutter open, but his eyelids felt so heavy, as if weights were tied to his eyelashes and rested on the floor. The chirping of birds remained clear and crisp, and the sound still stung his ears.


The comforter burned his skin, and as the darkness threw itself at his eyes and flooded his senses, Noah whipped his hands out from the blanket and sat up, feeling as if sweat had soaked through his skin and slid harshly against his bones. Painfully his stomach growled, and he glanced longingly at the kitchen, so few yards away. His ankle twitched under the blanket, and his barefoot slid off the bed and banged on the floor when it fell. His fingers bunched up the blanket so the air would hit it, and he almost let out an ecstatic moan when the coldness embraced his burning leg.

As well as being refreshingly cool, at the same time the air suffocated him, playfully tickling the exposed areas of his body before climbing up to his neck and poking at it softly, and then harder, and then, as if with a stick, attacking his neck harshly, sticking itself almost inside of his skin and jamming itself inside his throat. Noah gasped and ripped the blanket off himself, hopping off the bed and onto the itchy rug. He could hear Adam gently snoring from the other room, the door halfway open. He couldn't make out the large, neon green numbers that gleamed from the other side of the room, and he didn't bother to try to.

Almost every night Noah was awoken by his body telling him that something was wrong, that he couldn't go to sleep while something was wrong. Tonight his body told him that he was being scorched alive, and the only way to solve this problem was to fill his already full stomach. Noah winced, and decided against eating, although it took all his strength to not double over from hunger pains. Instead he reached for the translucent orange bottle that possessed a large sticker with his name in big letters. Two bottles sat next to one another. He turned on the light, and winced.

His eyes adjusted to the unwelcome brightness, and he squinted his eyes as he raised one of the bottles to his eyes. Definitely not what he needed right now. He wrapped his fingers around the second orange bottle and, hastily reading the label, unscrewed the cap and shoved two pills between his lips, downing the bottle of water that always sat next to his bed. The pills smoothly sunk down his throat, and tiredly he dropped the water bottle back onto his night table and clicked off the light. The darkness again surrounded him, and he slid back under the covers, closing his eyes and letting the blackness take a hold of him.


So much tapping. He couldn't stop. His fingers couldn't stop moving. They kept tapping the table, tapping and tapping and his fingertips ached from the constant drumming of the hard wood. Adam would offer him coffee as usual, but Noah looked like he was about to cry. Soon he lifted his hand from the table, and Noah's wrist shook relentlessly, his entire hand wildly shaking back and forth. He bit his lip and slammed his hand back down, only to find the sensation that darted up and down his hand unbearable.

"WhatdoIdoAdamwhatdoIdo?" He spluttered, and Adam took a step back, the steam from his coffee dissolving before it reached the ceiling. His eyes, at this hour usually half open and drowsy, were wide, and gleaming with confusion on what to do. Noah breathed in heavily, and breathed out, and sat there calmly for a couple of seconds before leaping out of the chair, almost ramming his head into the wall as he gripped it, gritting his teeth. His forehead slowly dropped against the wall, and the shadows cast around his face hid the trembling of his lips. Not a second time.

Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked down at his coffee, as if it would tell him what to do. "The doctor said after a couple of minutes it will wear down, and you'll be fine," he reassured, but when he looked up at him, the bloodless visage and the wildly frightened eyes unexpectedly made his heart skip a beat, and never before had he more desperately wanted to believe a doctor.

Suddenly Noah released himself from the wall and spun himself toward Adam, flinging himself at the small, unprepared boy. Adam hastily set down his coffee and wrapped his arms around Noah, whose hands clenched large handfuls of his dress shirt. "Adam Iloveyou, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou," he breathed, and Adam rested his head on Noah's, shutting his eyes tightly. He could feel the rapid, uneven breaths against his neck. All he could think to say was that everything will be fine, don't worry, everything… will be fine. "Okay," was the whisper that was muffled against his chest, and Adam ran his hand slowly up and down Noah's back.

Noah felt normal within a couple of minutes; his fingers no longer jittered, and his heartbeat had stopped its constant, irregularly fast beating. Once Noah began to breath deeply repetitively, Adam approached him, standing in the middle of the room. Hesitantly he reached out and grabbed both his shoulders, looking firmly into Noah's eyes. "Do you think you can go to work today?" he asked, and Noah stopped his breathing and paused. He nodded. "I have to go to school," he said. "Let me drive you."


He slept soundly. His hands were snugly shoved between his head and his pillow, and his breaths were clean and followed a comforting pattern. Adam ran his hand through Noah's soft hair that spilled over his eyes that so peacefully stayed closed, and his light skin that stayed warm and dry. The pills that sat next to his desk were sloppily thrown on top of the night table, and he picked them up and neatly arranged them, listening to the clink of the plastic bottles echo through out the small, quiet room.

That day Adam had returned from school, only to find Noah in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself as he stirred the thick pasta inside of the pot, the metal spoon clanking against the sides of the pot every so often while the water loudly boiled. "What are you making?" He had asked, stepping into the kitchen, and Noah turned around to beam at him.

"Soup," he declared, and casually walked up to Adam and seized his briefcase and jacket, placing both on the same dining room chair that he had knocked over but a week before. "Want some?" The question was so lighthearted, so nonchalant that Adam struggled to not break out into a grin as the light that reflected in his eyes danced.

Adam replied that he would of course want some, and Noah turned back to the pot and shook some bottles of spices and threw in various vegetables. "You're home from work early," he observed, and Noah nodded, continuing to add to the soup. "You're usually not home for another hour or two." Adam watched carefully as Noah stirred the soup, his delicate fingers dangerously close to the fiery hot pot.

His friend didn't comment on his observation, but instead conspicuously peered at an open cookbook. Again Adam's eyes danced with delight, and upon noticing, Noah smiled. "It's the book you edited," he said, and Adam almost squealed.

"It's the book I edited! Where did you get this? Where did you find this? I forgot about this, oh my gosh, Noah," he snatched the book from the counter and began to flip through it animatedly, the light that bounced off his eyes flickering with each page turn. Noah couldn't help but laugh at his excitement, and Adam flipped back to the page Noah was on. "Good soup," he noted, and handed the book back to him. His hand ran down his face, his lips curled into a tight smile. "I can't believe I forgot…" he mused, turning away to unpack his briefcase.

He took out several stacks of papers and placed them on the kitchen table, but paused when he felt eyes on him. Noah leaned against the counter, the heat of the stove turned on low, and a steam-laden top covering the pot. His arms were crossed, and a smirk crawled across his mouth. Adam furrowed his eyebrows nervously, and stood back up, asking what Noah was doing. Noah smiled wider and crossed the kitchen, his socks sliding against the tiles, and tugged gently on Adam's tie. "So," he murmured.

Adam laughed. "So," he repeated. Noah silently leaned closer and planted a kiss on Adam's quickly reddening cheek, who let out a smaller, faltering laugh. For the first time in months, he looked into Noah's eyes without fear that they would shut, that the body he was pressed against would drop to the ground with a sickening thump. Noah kissed his lips gently and backed away, allowing Adam to kiss back. He hadn't kissed him in so long. In so, so long.

"Thank you," Noah whispered, the tone of his voice rising at the last syllable. "Without you…" He trailed off; quickly he whipped his head to the side. He didn't like being emotional. He breathed in and breathed out, trying to calm himself, and soon he turned back to Adam. "Thank you," he said again.

As Noah slept, Adam planted himself on the edge of the bed, gripping gently his exposed arm. Everything would be fine now. Everything would be fine.


So I promise you that it will be… happier from now own. I suppose I just had to get this intense chapter out of the way. I feel bad leading you on with the summary, but I promise you lovelies, those days shall come! They shall come!

… I'm not leading you on, I swear :3

Thank you for reading! This chapter was actually entirely spontaneous; I had an outline and I didn't follow it at all… But I shall later! I shall!

Review, yes?