Noah had barely slept. The weight of last night—those stupid tears, the way his voice had cracked, the pity in Julian's eyes—clung to him like second skin. He hated it. He hated feeling exposed, like he'd peeled himself open only for the world to laugh.
So when he walked into school the next morning and found Julian waiting for him by the lockers with that calm, unreadable expression, his throat tightened.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Morning."
Noah shoved his books in his locker and muttered, "Forget about last night."
That earned him a look. Not angry, not even confused. Just… sharp. As if Julian had expected it.
"You mean the part where you cried in my kitchen?" Julian asked flatly, but his voice softened at the edges, not cruel.
Noah winced. "Don't say it like that."
"How else should I say it?"
"Just—pretend it didn't happen. Seriously, Jules. Drop it."
For a second Julian's lips pressed together like he was about to argue. Noah braced himself, every muscle tensed, but then Julian sighed and nodded.
"Fine. If that's what you want."
Noah blinked. "That easy?"
Julian smirked faintly. "Don't get cocky. I'll remember."
That was somehow worse.
They spent the next period in the library, their project sprawled across the table. Pages of notes, highlighted paragraphs, diagrams Noah could barely focus on because Julian's handwriting was stupidly neat. His brain kept replaying the sound of his own voice breaking when he told Julian about his parents. How pathetic it had been.
"Stop glaring at my notes," Julian muttered, scribbling something down.
"I'm not glaring."
"You're burning holes in the paper."
"I just—" Noah dragged a hand through his curls and slouched back. "Your handwriting is creepy good. That's all."
Julian gave him a sidelong look. "Creepy good?"
"Yeah. Like a font. Do you practice in front of a mirror or something?"
Julian rolled his eyes, but Noah saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
The banter eased some of the tightness in his chest, enough that when his phone buzzed, he groaned instead of snapping.
It was Tyler.
Coach wants to see you. Gym. Now.
Noah let his head thump against the table. "Of course."
Julian leaned over. "What is it?"
"Coach. Probably about Saturday's game." Noah hesitated, then glanced at Julian. "Come with me."
Julian blinked. "Why?"
"Because I said so." Noah smirked, masking nerves with bravado. "Come on, Jukes."
Julian stilled. "What did you just call me?"
"Jukes." Noah shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know, short for Julian Ainsworth. Jukes. Has a nice ring to it."
"That makes no sense."
"Sure it does. You look like a Jukes. Trust me."
Julian shook his head, gathering the papers. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love it," Noah shot back, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder.
The gymnasium smelled of varnished wood, sweat, and faint chlorine drifting in from the connected pool. Tyler was waiting near the bleachers, spinning a basketball in his hands.
"Noah." His grin was lazy, too sharp. "Coach is in his office. Said you better not be late."
"Yeah, yeah." Noah waved him off, then jerked his chin at Julian. "This is Jukes. He's with me."
Julian looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. "Please stop calling me that."
Tyler snorted. "Jukes? What kind of nickname is that?"
"The best kind," Noah said smugly. He clapped Julian on the shoulder and felt the boy stiffen under his touch. "Exclusive."
Julian glared at him, and Noah felt a curl of satisfaction deep in his chest. Teasing him was too easy. Too addictive.
While Noah went to find Coach, Julian sat reluctantly on the bleachers. Tyler slid beside him, studying him with the same scrutiny he used on opponents during games.
"So," Tyler drawled. "You and Noah. Friends?"
Julian kept his voice neutral. "Class project."
"That all?"
Julian shot him a look. "What are you implying?"
Tyler smirked. "Nothing. Just… Noah doesn't usually let people follow him around."
Julian's mouth curved. "Maybe I don't follow. Maybe he follows me."
That shut Tyler up for a beat, though his smirk didn't fade.
By the time Noah returned, Coach's orders fresh in his head and irritation bubbling under his skin, he found Julian and Tyler sitting side by side, not talking but locked in some kind of silent measuring contest.
Great. Just great.
Later, as they left the gym, Noah elbowed Julian. "Did Tyler try to scare you?"
Julian didn't answer right away. "He asked questions."
"And you?"
Julian glanced at him, eyes gleaming. "I answered."
Noah barked a laugh. "God, you're infuriating."
"You call me Jukes, I get to be infuriating."
"Touché."
They walked back through the halls, the project waiting, the unspoken memory of last night hanging between them like a ghost. Noah shoved it down, because if he thought about it too long, he might break again. And he wasn't ready.
Not yet.
But as Julian's shoulder brushed his—close, too close—Noah knew one thing for certain:
He wasn't letting him go.
Julian hadn't expected to stay long. He thought Noah would talk to his coach, maybe run a drill or two, and then they'd leave. But instead, he found himself leaning against the bleachers, his laptop bag still slung over his shoulder, watching Noah step onto the rink like it was his throne.
And God—Noah changed there.
The Noah he knew was sharp edges, sarcasm, hot temper, that cocky grin that never let anyone too close. But here… here he was focus and fire. His voice carried across the ice, instructing his teammates with authority that surprised Julian.
"Ty, cut tighter on that corner. You're dragging the line."
"Reed, watch your spacing—if you're crowding me, the play collapses."
"Good—again. Let's run it cleaner."
He stood tall, shoulders squared, every move commanding. The coach barely interrupted—only nodded, occasionally chiming in—because Noah had already taken control.
Julian didn't blink. Not once.
He couldn't.
Something about seeing Noah so sure of himself, so alive, stripped away the reckless mess he usually projected. It was magnetic, almost unbearable. His chest tightened, his fingers itched. And for one dangerous second, Julian wondered what it would feel like if Noah looked at him that way—with that raw focus, that drive, that fire.
As if answering the thought, Noah's eyes flicked to the bleachers mid-instruction.
He caught him staring.
And smirked.
Julian felt his face heat instantly, but he didn't look away. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. The smirk lingered, crooked and knowing, before Noah turned back to his team like nothing happened.
Julian's pulse didn't slow for the rest of practice.
The evening air was cooler when they finally left the gym. Their sneakers crunched against the sidewalk, the streetlights flickering on one by one.
Noah shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing sideways. "So, JUKES…"
Julian groaned. "Don't start."
"You were staring."
"I wasn't."
"You didn't blink for like… thirty minutes." Noah's smirk spread slow and infuriating. "Should I be flattered? Or concerned?"
Julian adjusted his glasses, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "I was observing. That's what smart people do. Observe."
"Observing me, huh?" Noah leaned closer, voice dropping teasingly. "Guess I really am your favorite subject."
Julian scoffed, but his ears were red. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Oh, I don't have to," Noah chuckled. "You do it for me."
Julian shoved him lightly with his shoulder, but Noah only laughed harder, his breath fogging in the cool air.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel snapped the moment in half.
A sleek black sedan slowed to a stop right next to them, tinted windows glinting under the streetlight. The passenger-side window rolled down smoothly, revealing a man in his forties with sharp eyes and a crisp suit.
"Noah," the man said, voice calm but firm. "It's late. Your grandparents want you home."
Julian froze. His first thought: Bodyguard.
Noah's jaw tightened instantly. His easy grin vanished, replaced by a scowl so sharp it could cut glass.
"Jesus Christ," Noah muttered. "You again."
The man's gaze flicked briefly to Julian before returning to Noah. "Get in the car. Don't make this difficult."
Julian's stomach twisted. This wasn't just some driver. This was surveillance. Control. Chains wrapped in black leather and tinted glass.
Noah's laugh was bitter. "Tell my dear grandparents they can shove it. I'm walking."
The man didn't flinch. "Noah—"
"I said I'm walking."
For a heartbeat, the air was thick, tense, suffocating. The car idled, engine humming low, headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Julian could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest.
Finally, the man exhaled through his nose, curt. "Fine. But I'll be close."
The window slid back up, and the car pulled forward slowly, tailing them from a distance.
Julian stared, disbelief flickering across his face. "…Was that—?"
"My fucking babysitter," Noah snapped, his voice raw with anger. "Grandparents' idea of keeping me in line. More like keeping me in a cage."
Julian opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say something—comfort, sympathy, anything—but Noah's expression stopped him cold.
Because beneath the fury was something else.
Something that looked a hell of a lot like pain.